#favourite

In the morning, the sun is rosy, transparent, warm gold. And the air itself is a little rosy, all steeped in the sun’s

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She looked down at the letter—and what was there behind her lowered blinds? What will she say—what will she do in the

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They sat there in the fresh young darkness close together.

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The eroticism inherent in living things is scattered through the air, in the sea, in the plants, in us, scattered in

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…do you hear? do you hear this dark strength? this terrifying beauty?

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Others disapproved of him because he devoted his whole life to art, and they saw he was not a genius. For them, the nobility

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How I focused on your shirt, your emphatic hands. / How I listened to you with snow falling, with snow / covering all the

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but he looked away [from my hands], as though he had seen into the most vulnerable part of my body.

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Love bestows innocence. It has nothing to forgive. The person loved is not the same as the person seen crossing the street

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What I write you has no beginning: it’s a continuation. From the words of this song, a song that’s mine and yours, there

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beware the words (she said) they have a sharp edge they’ll cut your tongue off beware they’ll drown you

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Poetry makes language care because it renders everything intimate. This intimacy is the result of the poem’s labor, the

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I want her to imagine our scandalous days in Odessa when we will open a small sweets shop—except for her lovers and

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And, of course, you talk about the one you love — if you talk at all.

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[Love] must be something like that, she thought now, something ineffable that comes from outside and fills us; something

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“I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”...