Jack Kerouac, The Scripture of the Golden Eternity
Yes, I was infatuated with you; I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn’t stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my minds, my dreams. And you weren’t having any of those.
—The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via thechocolatebrigade)
We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.
They’re nineteen and in love. Alone except for each other. Jobless and homeless, looking for something, somewhere, anywhere here
—Bright Shiny Morning by James Frey (via thechocolatebrigade)
Much of our cultural suspicion of intense grief is rooted in the fear that the unleashing of such passion will overtake us and keep us from life. However, this fear is usually misguided. In its deepest sense, grief is a burning of the heart, an intense heat that gives us solace and release. When we deny the full expression of our grief, it lays like a weight on our hearts, causing emotional pain and physical ailments. Grief is most often unrelenting when individuals are not reconciled to the reality of loss.
—All About Love: New Visions by bell hooks (via thechocolatebrigade)