Rain Quotes
...writing with ferocity is a gift, provided that ferocity is a monomaniacal devotion to pursuing the truth ...
... my early writing was a silent fury - at what or whom, I had no idea - but I shut it in until it burned my bones and now, I've let it out...
...I make no apology about stirring the depths - every human longs to swim under water and see what lurks beneath ...
...there is a myth called objective reality - we think an impersonal world exists apart from us - it doesn't - it needs us to be ...
...I know Shakespeare said art is holding up a mirror to nature- but you're actually bending and refracting it through your interior dialogue ...
...the bones of cirrus clouds stand out like ribs against the sky - an angel is stretching...
We know everyone we love is going to die, but we don't know it, can't possibly believe it, she thought, or long ago I would have gone and started digging until I had a hole big enough to lie down in.
...Use your finger to trace the scar upon my chest- I lied - it wasn't a knife wound, but a scrape from a nail sliding under a fence to see you...
...who would have known the dark eyes staring into mine would become our children's eyes...?
... the house is on fire, but go ahead - finish painting the verandah...
...you betrayed me, but after all those years I discover, my tears have wiped the slate clean...
...God and your heart both whisper - incline your ear - don't just learn from your head...
...Everyone struggles to guard their heart from breaking, when they should desire to have a heart that breaks...
...it's merely writing, but you have to adjust your ear – I speak quietly – I sob – I whisper...
...is the writer a prophet or priest - does he show the truth or serve the truth?...
...some writers closet themselves - I write wherever I am because that's where life is happening ...
...it's good to know wave and particle alpha code, but more than that, the writer must go to the heart of life ...
...if you want your own distinctive voice, you first have to become someone...
...my writing is a wild mustang - more thunderous than a lightning storm -and all my skill which I call art, is devoted to simply staying on...
...that icy glass reduces your beauty - dims your fire - let me be your mirror...
...dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field...
...these vignettes I sketch for you - what are they? watercolors ..yes and dreams blurred with tears ...
...when I think of you it's with tears, because no one else has such delicate hands that can reach into my soul and calm my fears...
I want out of this place.With no reminders."It stings -sulphur tearsin cinnamon rain.
I believe that people were not so allergic to their environment until they began polluting themselves and their world with so many drugs and toxins.
...you are not what you seem - you're a Sylph - you leave and the air retains your image - you haunt me...
...Ah, but the Moon my Love is jealous, and can you blame him? You outshine him with your virtues...
...I don't want what other men see in you- you the you I want is invisible but it is the part of you I really love...
...you called me poet-priest - I am. ...devoted to my art, faithful to you...or, is the other way around?...
...what else would a poet priest do on an endless night, but write of love?...
...I guess you're right - I am a priest - I offer sacrifices - so take this line, I want you to have something of mine...
...I'm shy in person - so afraid to confess my love - I need a go-between - our mutual friend, the Moon...
...I live with regrets - the bittersweet loss of innocence - the red track of the moon upon the lake - the inability to return and do it again...
...Neruda was right about all mysterious women - The moon lives in the lining of their skin...
...winter crescent resting in the high pine bough - you fly through the woods like a lone snow bird...
I miss it if I’m not in it for any length of time
I am not man so much as syndrome
...I prefer rain -sometimes I feel sunlight will turn me to stone - perhaps I'm a Troll...
...I looked in the window, wanting to stay - it rained, yet I remained...because you were so lovely...
Instead, she's as stillas a leaf-littered pond, dark water evaporating, waiting desperately for rain.
It lingers in this room like the voices that still echo here, some belonging to a man who’d once been alive, and the rest belong to others who’ve never drawn breath.
...you need to travel to see the ocean - I don't need the ocean - I have the sky...
...I love Shakespeare, but sometimes....his images - If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head....
...I'm constantly agitated, restless - I work moments like worry beads until I see your face...
There will always be something a little off, but like a three-legged dog, you’ll learn to walk again.
That's all any of us have in the end, isn't it? there is death ahead of all of us. And so we live.
...I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists...