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“It is a terrible thing
To be so open: it is as if my heart
Put on a face and walked into the world.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems

“Mystic

The air is a mill of hooks -
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.

I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up

Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun’s conflagrations, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?

The pill of the Communion tablet,
The walking beside still water? Memory?
Or picking up the bright pieces
of Christ in the faces of rodents,
The tame flower- nibblers, the ones

Whose hopes are so low they are comfortable -
The humpback in his small, washed cottage
Under the spokes of the clematis.
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea

Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.

The heart has not stopped.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems

“A man doubted that the emperor was descended from the gods; he asserted that the emperor was our rightful sovereign, he did not doubt the emperor's divine mission (that was evident to him), it was only the divine descent that he doubted. This, naturally, did not cause much of a stir; when the surf flings a drop of water on to the land, that does not interfere with the eternal rolling of the sea, on the contrary, it is caused by it.

(Ein Mann bezweifelte die gõttliche Sendung des Kaisers, er behauptete, der Kaiser sei mit Recht unser oberster Herr, bezweifelte nicht die gõttliche Sendung des Kaisers, die war ihm sichtbar, nur die gõttliche Abstammung bezweifelte er. Viel Aufsehen machte das na­turlich nicht; wenn die Brandung einen Wassertropfen ans Land wirft, stõrt das nicht den ewigen Wellengang des Meeres, es ist vielmehr von ihm bedingt.)”
― Franz Kafka, Parables and Paradoxes

“She was beautiful, but not like those girls in magazines. She was beautiful, for the way she thought. She was beautiful, for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful, for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No, she wasn't beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul. She is beautiful.”
― F Scott Fitzgerald