Quotes About Reflection

We know it, but chose forget it. Is too much hard to bear. Yesterday, you made me realize that: we chose forget.

Surround yourself with people that reflect who you want to be and how you want to feel, energies are contagious.

Even if a poem is beautiful and memorable, it's not like an advertising jingle or propaganda, which attempt to convince and control. Poems seek to confuse, disabuse, enlarge understanding, and make people ask questions and think for themselves.

I have no lover, not even my love. I have no other, not even I.

Letter [December to Persephone] Am I the only one to notice the soft layer of haze above snow? You say you see butterflies in the skeleton pelvis, well, what about the larger hand of the clock? Or a cauldron for boiling water? Did you, do you ever stop falling?" I repeat your name a word it almost means nothing Do you remember encyclopedias? I piled up the books so you could reach the table. Now the only way to recall you is the shape of your walking away.

The online tarot reading says she already has everything she needs. So, she gets quiet. When the phone rings she doesn't answer it. She makes a list of the things she thinks she lacks but might require: the ability to draw, a career as a singer . . . The list or the making of the list is unendurable.

Sometimes when I ask people to tell me their story they tell me about their achievements, what they have acquired or built over a lifetime. So many of us do not know our own story. A story about who we are, not what we have done. About what we have faced to build what we have built, what we have drawn upon and risked to do it, what we have felt, thought, feared, and discovered through the events of our lives. The real story that belongs to us alone.

Does the Sower feed the tale Or the tale feed the Sower?

Présente je vous fuis; absente, je vous trouve; Dans le fond des forêts votre image me suit

Those who have reached the seventh incarnation carry with them all that was learnt, suffered and experienced in the previous six. Life for them is a perpetual and unsatisfying deja vu. Nothing is new, truly interesting, truly vital. Everything has done before, even before it begins. Such a soul is said to live a 'Saturday Life

For she thought that she glimpsed through the dust of the years, a faint flicker of the girl who had lingered in the lanes when the young man Williams and she had been courting. And looking at Williams as he stood before her twitching and bowed, she thought that she glimpsed a faint flicker of the youth, very stalwart and comely, who had bent his head downwards and sideways as he walked and whispered and kissed in the lanes.

Most people gaze neither into the past nor the future; they explore neither truth nor lies. They gaze at the television.

You'd kill yourself for regognition, kill yourself to never ever stop. You broke there mirror, you're turning into something your not.

I'm not living, I'm just killing time

Still cries at a good film, Still kisses with saliva, No longer empty and frantic like a cat tied to a stick, That's driven into frozen winter shit (The ability to laugh at weakness), Calm, Fitter, Healthier and more productive A pig in a cage on antibiotics.

And for a minute there, I lost my self.

A sense of mission lost in ink's jagged outcrops. I was trying to tell myself what I must have known before in a form I wouldn't recognize at first.

But here I hold your dream in my poem.

Today could be described as a retired man humming tunelessly to himself.

é una strana accozzaglia di cose, vero? Ciò che resta di una vita.

And it wasn't as if she could talk about it with Samuel, couldn't even imagine talking about it. Eventually she saw sex as part of being a wife.

Above the sink in the scratched mirror he looked grubby and bloated, his beard a grizzled mess. He knew what these men could never know: A man is who he is. That doesn't change. A thief is a thief. A bad man stays a bad man underneath. He'd been set at seventeen. "You want to end

You know what they say. Don't be sorry that it ended. Be glad that it happened.

I've spent fifty years...without a man in my bed. Think...of all the orgasms I missed.