Quotes About Emotion

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.) --from Mad Girl's Love Song: A Villanelle, written 1954

Is it the sea you hear in me, Its dissatisfactions? Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness? --from Elm, written 19 April 1962

The blood jet is poetry, There is no stopping it. --from Kindness, written 1 February 1963

If you pluck out my heart To find what makes it move, You'll halt the clock That syncopates our love.

Love is the bone and sinew of my curse. --from Poem For A Birthday - The Stones, written 1959

O love, how did you get here? --from Nick and the Candlestick, written 29 October 1962

Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it --from Elm, written 19 April 1962

I hurl my heart to halt his pace. --from Pursuit, written 1956

What is so real as the cry of a child? A rabbit's cry may be wilder But it has no soul.

I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy.

I have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood.

I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.

I hadn't, at the last moment, felt like washing off the two diagonal lines of dried blood that marked my cheeks. They seemed touching, and rather spectacular, and I thought I would carry them around with me, like the relic of a dead lover, till they wore off of their own accord.

The door of the novel, like the door of the poem, also shuts. But not so fast, nor with such manic, unanswerable finality.

Your body Hurts me as the world hurts God

Bright beads of red are rising through the ink, Hearts-blood bubbles smearing out into the black stream

I am glad the rain is coming down hard. It's the way I feel inside.

Love is an illusion, but I would willingly fall for it if I could believe in it.

With that strange knowing that comes over me, like a clairvoyance, I know that I am sure of myself and my enormous and alarmingly timeless love for you; which will always be.

My bones hold a stillness, the far Fields melt my heart.

Why is crying so pleasurable? I feel clean, absolutely purged after it. As if I had a grief to get over with, some deep sorrow.

All night your moth-breath Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen. A far sea moves in my ear. --from Morning Song, written 19 February 1961

In the month of red leaves I climb to a bed of fire.

My heartbeat boomed like a dull motor in my ears. I am I am I am.