All of Us Quotes

“Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.

Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.

Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgivable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.

- Rain”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“There is in the soul a desire for not thinking.
For being still. Coupled with this
a desire to be strict, yes, and rigorous.
But the soul is also a smooth son of a bitch,
not always trustworthy. And I forgot that.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“All of us, all of us, all of us trying to save our immortal souls, some ways seemingly more round about and mysterious than others. We are having a good time here. But hope all will be revealed soon.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“You have to have been in love to write poetry.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“There is no God, and conversation is a dying art.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Today, my heart, like the front door, stands open for the first time in months.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“life was a stone cutting and grinding...”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Grief"

Woke up early this morning and from my bed
looked far across the Strait to see
a small boat moving through the choppy water,
a single running light on. Remembered
my friend who used to shout
his dead wife’s name from hilltops
around Perugia. Who set a plate
for her at his simple table long after
she was gone. And opened the windows
so she could have fresh air. Such display
I found embarrassing. So did his other
friends. I couldn’t see it.
Not until this morning.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“after a minute, you continue writing.
she screams again.
you wonder how long this can go on.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Gravy No other word will do. For that’s what it was. Gravy. Gravy, these past ten years. Alive, sober, working, loving and being loved by a good woman. Eleven years ago he was told he had six months to live at the rate he was going. And he was going nowhere but down. So he changed his ways somehow. He quit drinking! And the rest? After that it was all gravy, every minute of it, up to and including when he was told about, well, some things that were breaking down and building up inside his head. “Don’t weep for me,” he said to his friends. “I’m a lucky man. I’ve had ten years longer than I or anyone expected. Pure gravy. And don’t forget it.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“My Death If I’m lucky, I’ll be wired every whichway in a hospital bed. Tubes running into my nose. But try not to be scared of me, friends! I’m telling you right now that this is okay. It’s little enough to ask for at the end. Someone, I hope, will have phoned everyone to say, “Come quick, he’s failing!” And they will come. And there will be time for me to bid goodbye to each of my loved ones. If I’m lucky, they’ll step forward and I’ll be able to see them one last time and take that memory with me. Sure, they might lay eyes on me and want to run away and howl. But instead, since they love me, they’ll lift my hand and say “Courage” or “It’s going to be all right.” And they’re right. It is all right. It’s just fine. If you only knew how happy you’ve made me! I just hope my luck holds, and I can make some sign of recognition. Open and close my eyes as if to say, “Yes, I hear you. I understand you.” I may even manage something like this: “I love you too. Be happy.” I hope so! But I don’t want to ask for too much. If I’m unlucky, as I deserve, well, I’ll just drop over, like that, without any chance for farewell, or to press anyone’s hand. Or say how much I cared for you and enjoyed your company all these years. In any case, try not to mourn for me too much. I want you to know I was happy when I was here. And remember I told you this a while ago—April 1984. But be glad for me if I can die in the presence of friends and family. If this happens, believe me, I came out ahead. I didn’t lose this one.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Forever Drifting outside in a pall of smoke, I follow a snail’s streaked path down the garden to the garden’s stone wall. Alone at last I squat on my heels, see what needs to be done, and suddenly affix myself to the damp stone. I begin to look around me slowly and listen, employing my entire body as the snail employs its body, relaxed, but alert. Amazing! Tonight is a milestone in my life. After tonight how can I ever go back to that other life? I keep my eyes on the stars, wave to them with my feelers. I hold on for hours, just resting. Still later, grief begins to settle around my heart in tiny drops. I remember my father is dead, and I am going away from this town soon. Forever. Goodbye, son, my father says. Toward morning, I climb down and wander back into the house. They are still waiting, fright splashed on their faces, as they meet my new eyes for the first time.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“I crack the other egg.
Surely we have diminished one another.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Happiness. It comes on unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really, any early morning talk about it.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“This Word Love"

I will not go when she calls
even if she says I love you,
especially that,
even though she swears
and promises nothing
but love love.

The light in this room
covers every
thing equally;
even my arm throws no shadow,
it too is consumed with light.

But this word love —
this word grows dark, grows
heavy and shakes itself, begins
to eat, to shudder and convulse
its way through this paper
until we too have dimmed in
its transparent throat and still
are riven, are glistening, hip and thigh, your
loosened hair which knows
no hesitation.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Hummingbird FOR TESS Suppose I say summer, write the word “hummingbird,” put it in an envelope, take it down the hill to the box. When you open my letter you will recall those days and how much, just how much, I love you.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“A Forge, and a Scythe"

One minute I had the windows open
and the sun was out. Warm breezes
blew through the room.
(I remarked on this in a letter.)
Then, while I watched, it grew dark.
The water began whitecapping.
All the sport-fishing boats turned
and headed in, a little fleet.
Those wind-chimes on the porch
blew down. The tops of our trees shook.
The stove pipe squeaked and rattled
around in its moorings.
I said, "A forge, and a scythe."
I talk to myself like this.
Saying the names of things --
capstan, hawser, loam, leaf, furnace.
Your face, your mouth, your shoulder
inconceivable to me now!
Where did they go? It's like
I dreamed them. The stones we brought
home from the beach lie face up
on the windowsill, cooling.
Come home. Do you hear?
My lungs are thick with the smoke
of your absence.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Pero te digo que los días limpios e iluminados por el sol están aquí, al fin.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Esta vida, con sus complicaciones y llamadas de teléfono, es indecente, una perdida de tiempo.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Una vez más se encontraba frente al misterio de la vida. Lluvia. Risas. La historia. El arte. El poder de la muerte. Allí se quedó, escuchando.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Me asomé entonces a la ventana y estaba lloviendo.
Y me rendí. Me dediqué por entero
al cuidado de esta mañana lluviosa.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Miedo a llegar tarde y miedo a llegar antes que nadie.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Intento centrarme en lo que me rodea, fijarme en cada cosa, incluso los milagros.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“Cuando nos movemos hacia cualquier zona del pasado se pone en marcha la cadena y tira de nosotros, implacable.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“You tell me you didn’t sleep well. I say I didn’t either. You had a terrible night. “Me too.” We’re extraordinarily calm and tender with each other as if sensing the other’s rickety state of mind. As if we knew what the other was feeling. We don’t, of course. We never do. No matter. It’s the tenderness I care about. That’s the gift this morning that moves and holds me. Same as every morning.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“I talk to myself like this.
Saying the names of things —
capstan, hawser, loam, leaf, furnace.
Your face, your mouth, your shoulder
inconceivable to me now!
Where did they go? It’s like
I dreamed them. The stones we brought
home from the beach lie face up
on the windowsill, cooling.
Come home. Do you hear?
My lungs are thick with the smoke
of your absence.

— Raymond Carver, from “A Forge, and a Scythe,” All of Us: The Collected Poems. (Vintage; Reprint edition May 25, 2015) Originally published 1988.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“I talk to myself like this.
Saying the names of things --
capstan, hawser, loam, leaf, furnace.
Your face, your mouth, your shoulder
inconceivable to me now!
Where did they go? It's like
I dreamed them. The stones we brought
home from the beach lie face up
on the windowsill, cooling.
Come home. Do you hear?
My lungs are thick with the smoke
of your absence.

— Raymond Carver, from “A Forge, and a Scythe,” All of Us: The Collected Poems. (Vintage; Reprint edition May 25, 2015) Originally published 1988.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“years later,
I still wanted to give up
friend, love, starry skies,
for a house where no one
was home, no one coming back,
and all I could drink.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“I talk to myself like this.
Saying the names of things --
capstan, hawser, loam, leaf, furnace.
Your face, your mouth, your shoulder
inconceivable to me now!
Where did they go? It's like
I dreamed them. The stones we brought
home from the beach lie face up
on the windowsill, cooling.
Come home. Do you hear?
My lungs are thick with the smoke
of your absence.

— Raymond Carver, from “A Forge, and a Scythe,” All of Us: The Collected Poems. (Vintage; Reprint edition May 25, 2015) Originally published 1988.”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems

“What lasts is what you start with. – CHARLES WRIGHT from A Journal of Southern Rivers”
― Raymond Carver, All of Us: The Collected Poems