"Everything was chocolate ice cream and kisses and wind."
— Francesca Lia Block (The Hanged Man)

"I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another til I drop."
— Jack Kerouac

"Because THAT'S not a poem?!"
— Aimee Larson

"For-soothe my aching soul that is my wind, set hearts from there cages to fall a sinking sound. And the light shall purify and a feild of love will open up a new world."
— Jeremiah Wilson

"Cease, stranger, cease those witching notes,
The art of syren choirs;
Hush the seductive voice that floats
Across the trembling wires.

Music's ethereal power was given
Not to dissolve our clay,
But draw Promethean beams from heaven
To purge the dross away."
— John Henry Newman

""Sometimes I look back and I am shocked. Everyday of my life I have prepared for success, worked for it, waited for it, and you don't notice how the days pass until nearly a lifetime is finished. Then it hits you--the thing you have been waiting for has already gone by. And it was going in the other direction. It's like I've been waiting on the wrong side of the road for a bus that was already full." p. 265"
— Monica Ali (Brick Lane: A Novel)

"...she could not think of what had happened to her that day, or of what might happen that night. Instead, she watched the lamplighters move along the avenues even as their celestial counterparts set the stars alight in the sky. The rain had washed the city clean, and the air was a confection of clematis and violets and peony. Music and light spilled out of so many grand houses that the two seemed at once ubiquitous and united, as if to play a note was to send forth a ray of illumination, and a quartet was enough to set the grandest halls aglitter."
— Galen M. Beckett (The Magicians and Mrs. Quent)

"The characters in my novels are my own unrealised possibilities. That is why I am equally fond of them all and equally horrified by them. Each one has crossed a border that I myself have circumvented.
"
— Milan Kundera

"Maybe he was as mad as he said he was, but she could see only a species of miserable fright. Suddenly, like the thud of a boxing glove on her mouth, she saw how close to the edge of everything he was. The agency was tottering, that was bad enough, and now, on top of that, like a grisly dessert following a putrid main course, his marriage was tottering too. She felt a rush of warmth for him, for this man she had sometimes hated and had, for the last three hours at least, feared. A kind of epiphany filled her. Most of all, she hoped he would always think he had been as mad as hell, and not . . . not the way his face said he felt."
— Stephen King (Cujo)

"I will grab you, even if you were a beautiful knife. I will follow you, even if you were a mind that was like the wind. Even if you were a night like hell in which no one could live in. I will let go of the light, and easily close my eyes." - MapTheSoul -"
— Epik High

"She touched his hand for the last time. "Oh, Karim, that we have already done. But always there was a problem between us. How can I explain? I wasn't me, and you weren't you. From the very beginning to the very end, we didn't see things. What we did--we made each other up." p. 382"
— Monica Ali (Brick Lane: A Novel)

"'It's better to have nothing,' the children were saying."
— Marilynne Robinson (Housekeeping)

"… in these new days and in these new pages a philosophical tradition of the spontaneity of speculation kind has been rekindled on the sacred isle of Éire, regardless of its creative custodian never having been taught how to freely speculate, how to profoundly question, and how to playfully define.

Spontaneity of speculation being synonymous with the philosophical-poetic, the philosophical-poetic with the rural philosopher-poet, and by roundelay the rural philosopher-poet thee with the spontaneity of speculation be.

And by the way of the rural what may we say?
A philosopher-poet of illimitable space we say.

Iohannes Scottus Ériugena the metaphor of old salutes you; salutes your lyrical ear and your skilful strumming of the rippling harp.

(Source: Hearing in the Write, Canto 19, Ivy-muffled)"
— Richard McSweeney (Hearing in the Write)

"A tattoo is a true poetic creation, and is always more than meets the eye. As a tattoo is grounded on living skin, so its essence emotes a poignancy unique to the mortal human condition. "
— V. Vale and Andrea Juno

"The autumn landscape was gold and blood red, bejeweled, magnificent."
— Azar Nafisi (Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books)

"The old dog cut an ancient caper or two and then drew up sharp, ashamed of his levity, and walked a few dignified paces by his master's side."
— Katherine Mansfield

"...a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy's wing."
— Azar Nafisi (Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books)