“You are water, whirling water,
Yet still water trapped within,
Come, submerge yourself within us,
We who are the flowing stream.”
― Love: The Joy That Wounds: The Love Poems of Rumi
Yet still water trapped within,
Come, submerge yourself within us,
We who are the flowing stream.”
― Love: The Joy That Wounds: The Love Poems of Rumi
“Think of this - that the writer wrote alone, and the reader read alone, and they were alone with each other.”
― Possession
― Possession
“Elodin pointed down the street. "What color is that boy's shirt?"
"Blue."
"What do you mean by blue? Describe it."
I struggled for a moment, failed. "So blue is a name?"
"It is a word. Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts. There are seven words that will make a person love you. There are ten words that will break a strong man's will. But a word is nothing but a painting of a fire. A name is the fire itself."
My head was swimming by this point. "I still don't understand."
He laid a hand on my shoulder. "Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating." He lifted his hands high above his head as if stretching for the sky. "But there are other ways to understanding!" he shouted, laughing like a child. He threw both arms to the cloudless arch of sky above us, still laughing. "Look!" he shouted tilting his head back. "Blue! Blue! Blue!”
― The Name of the Wind
"Blue."
"What do you mean by blue? Describe it."
I struggled for a moment, failed. "So blue is a name?"
"It is a word. Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts. There are seven words that will make a person love you. There are ten words that will break a strong man's will. But a word is nothing but a painting of a fire. A name is the fire itself."
My head was swimming by this point. "I still don't understand."
He laid a hand on my shoulder. "Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating." He lifted his hands high above his head as if stretching for the sky. "But there are other ways to understanding!" he shouted, laughing like a child. He threw both arms to the cloudless arch of sky above us, still laughing. "Look!" he shouted tilting his head back. "Blue! Blue! Blue!”
― The Name of the Wind
“I wish I had the talent to paint the way I feel about you, for my words always feel inadequate. I imagine using red for your passion and pale blue for your kindness; forest green to reflect the depth of your empathy and bright yellow for your unflagging optimism. And still I wonder: can even an artist’s palette capture the full range of what you mean to me?”
― The Longest Ride
― The Longest Ride
Chicks On Lit
— 5154 members
— last activity Dec 23, 2025 07:47AM
(Est. Feb 14, 2008) More than a reading group of women but a place for honest, respectful, intelligent conversations led by adult women. Discussions a ...more
May’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at May’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
More friends…
Favorite Genres
Polls voted on by May
Lists liked by May

























