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“Thus it is that no cruelty whatsoever passes by without impact. Thus it is that we always pay dearly for chasing after what is cheap.”
― The Gulag Archipelago 1918–1956
― The Gulag Archipelago 1918–1956
“She is not listening. If she could hear words like that she would not be getting down from this wagon, with that belly and that fan and that little bundle, alone, bound for a place she never saw before and hunting for a man she ain't going to ever see again and that she has already seen one time too many as it is.”
― Light in August
― Light in August
“A poet is someone who stands outside in the rain hoping to be struck by lightning.”
―
―
“I am still on my zigzag way, pursuing the diagonal between reason and heart.”
― Rain in the Mountains: Notes from the Himalayas
― Rain in the Mountains: Notes from the Himalayas
“Love The Wild Swan
I hate my verses, every line, every word.
Oh pale and brittle pencils ever to try
One grass-blade's curve, or the throat of one bird
That clings to twig, ruffled against white sky.
Oh cracked and twilight mirrors ever to catch
One color, one glinting
Hash, of the splendor of things.
Unlucky hunter, Oh bullets of wax,
The lion beauty, the wild-swan wings, the storm of the wings."
--This wild swan of a world is no hunter's game.
Better bullets than yours would miss the white breast
Better mirrors than yours would crack in the flame.
Does it matter whether you hate your . . . self?
At least Love your eyes that can see, your mind that can
Hear the music, the thunder of the wings. Love the wild swan.”
―
I hate my verses, every line, every word.
Oh pale and brittle pencils ever to try
One grass-blade's curve, or the throat of one bird
That clings to twig, ruffled against white sky.
Oh cracked and twilight mirrors ever to catch
One color, one glinting
Hash, of the splendor of things.
Unlucky hunter, Oh bullets of wax,
The lion beauty, the wild-swan wings, the storm of the wings."
--This wild swan of a world is no hunter's game.
Better bullets than yours would miss the white breast
Better mirrors than yours would crack in the flame.
Does it matter whether you hate your . . . self?
At least Love your eyes that can see, your mind that can
Hear the music, the thunder of the wings. Love the wild swan.”
―
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Wandering’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Wandering’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
630 books
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197 friends
91 books
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208 friends
7,403 books
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360 friends
314 books
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282 friends
1,152 books
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375 friends
308 books
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192 friends
846 books
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58 friends
1,170 books
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136 friends
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