Quotes from Daphne Gottlieb

I go through periods of not writing. Until there's something I can't find in the world that I need, so I write.

I go in and out of season. I won't write for months, and then all of a sudden, I'll write like I've got a fever.

you can take this mouth this wound you want but you can't kiss and make it better.

I'm entranced by the idea of reading the culture back to itself, because I'm conscious that we as people and also as a culture are myth-making machines. So I'm interested in a resistance to that: What we can bend, what we can break.

I was 14 and madly in love for the first time. He was 21. He made me suddenly, unaccustomedly beautiful with his kisses and mix tapes. During the year of elation and longing, he never mentioned that he had a girlfriend who lived across the street.

I think that hope is the act of continuing in the face of the truth.

Someone Should Write Me a Love Poem but I'm Stuck Doing It Myself

I think that I have less conviction than ever that poetry matters - that poetry changes or saves anything or anyone. But, in fact, that's tremendously freeing. If it doesn't matter much, the stakes are lower and you can't really fail. It's insurrection. It's a tiny alphabet revolution. A secret. A psalm.

Love - at least the pair-bonded, prescribed love - does not conquer all.

Poetry is a lousy form of activism; it doesn't really change much. And maybe we can point to one or two historical times when a poem has started a revolution or a rebellion or an uprising, but it doesn't happen that often, and if you put the number of poems next to the number of political acts, it would be pretty slim.

you can take this mouth this wound you want but you can't kiss and make it better.

come back so i can say yes this time do it again now that i know what to call what you did this time i'll be ready i like it rough now and i'm done with romance i never met another man who loved me so much at first sight he had to hurt me to do it

Fuck yr heroes, I'm saving myself.

All the black leather she needs is the E-Z boy recliner where her love is parked with one of his hands wrapped around a remote, the other, a bottle of beer. She's right. It's kinky. The way he doesn't look away from the TV, as her head bobs in his lap like a fisherman's float on a nature program, hectic with the pace his breath sets. His crotch swells under her mouth's prowess. He's such a sweetheart he waits until the commercials to come.

There is nothing going on. I took nothing you wanted. You can't have it back.

In a field. With the moon. And the dark. And the dirt. With your mouth. And just one word: god god god.

the frightening truth about desire it's on but i don't know whether i want to be her, fuck her or borrow her clothes.

Hypothesis: To burn and not consume. Hypothesis: To consume and not extinguish.

5'10 I seem 5'8 I seem 6'2 I seem dead.