With no one to console her then, she grew haunted, pale and thin. I use this description simply because it's the way to write about sympathetic grieving women. I'm pretty sure just as many grieving women get red and shiny and fat.

Let’s pretend it’s a work of art. Let’s pretend it’s not my heart.

There are dreams that cannot be, and there are storms we cannot weather.

Ah, poor wretches, why did we give you to Lord Peleus, a mortal man, you who are ageless and immortal? Was it so you might suffer grief among unhappy men? For there is nothing more wretched than mankind of all things that breathe and creep upon the earth.

But what did I ever do to you, and what did I ever do to him, and what have I ever done to anyone?

This homosexual dream of a perfect metaphysical union is not so much a reflected heterosexual ideal as it is the compensation for having wept in the darkness.

You came to me while we were sleeping, we were both sleeping, and you asked me to hold this for you. I am holding this for you.

my thoughts may not be holy & my words when i say them inside my own head are not at all holy – but the vows will fix my sinful thoughts for me i think because god loves a sinner & i think often of sin & i hope that makes him love me more –

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, fear makes the heart grow louder, and death makes the heart grow flowers.

You don't have to make any promises, love. I'm afraid I might die for you now.

This ends when I grant them my forgiveness, not the other way around.

And the sickener hits: I can work till I break, but I love the bones of you, that I will never escape.

Rejoice despite the fact this world will tear you to shreds. Rejoice, because you're trying your best.

We never asked to be what we are! No one questioned ripping you from your home planet and bringing you to Earth, did they? No one asked how you suffered when the host you chose, Peter Parker, rejected and abandoned you.

I'll hold you if you want me to; just say I can – through lion, through snake to man.

Here is my hand, my heart, my throat, my wrist. Here are the illuminated cities at the center of me, and here is the center of me, which is a lake, which is a well that we can drink from, but I can't go through with it. I just don't want to die anymore.

Make him a joy to his friends, a pain to his enemies and let there exist for us not one single further sorrow.

I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you Till China and Africa meet, And the river jumps over the mountain And the salmon sing in the street, I’ll love you till the ocean Is folded and hung up to dry And the seven stars go squawking Like geese about the sky.

Before a monster is a monster, it is swollen with love, it presses sin flush against the wall, it pretends that it knows what to do with its hands.

Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.

“Here is the man, who above all others has touched my heart to the quick, who slew my cherished companion.” He spoke, and looking from beneath his brows addressed glorious Hector: “Come nearer, so that you may come the quicker to death's border.”

Rather the dew on the window of the castle than the castle itself. Rather the flight of the birds. Rather burned than captured.

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.

To die by your hand, my beautiful man, is the closest we'll ever get.

And I hate to hear their screams, and I hate to see myself through their full-moon eyes, and I hate that I forgive you, but I do – I just don't know why.

In the end I will give you everything I own, sure you'd never want me for myself alone. Oh, how I hate the way I am, always trying to impress! Lord, if I could love me more, then I could love you less.

I didn't know. I didn't care. I just wanted the sea.

I don't care if you kill me, because at least I'll have died as I lived: a spear in my fist, your name on my lips, fighting like I always did.

You try to warn him, you tell him you will want to get inside him, and ruin him, but he doesn't listen. You do this, you do. You take the things you love and tear them apart or you pin them down with your body and pretend they're yours.

To me, God is a name that humans give to all that is. Experientially, it is whatever is left over when the delusion of the self is taken away.