I'm the reason he's alive, so his life I shall reclaim – one more stab of pain won't undo me.

‘No, of course. I was just—’ and she smiled, down there in the dark, in the belly of the earth, and her face shattered with the force of it, and beneath it was just blood and bone, the tear of muscle, and still she smiled. ‘I was just kidding.’

You cannot catch the river, though it makes you think you can – it trickles through your fingers while you hold it in your hands.

I am telling myself they do not mean ill. They do not mean ill. They do not mean ill. My favorite sentence is: “The day she knew she was very old, she was suddenly filled with happiness that years ago, she had gotten that tattoo of a bluebird.”

The black trees, the bright stars. She was awake. There was nothing.

This is what I have: black mud. Grey stone. Walls. Halls. Corners. Bones. This is what you have: the entire colorful open sea.

You, with the nape that holds my gaze; you, with the tongue that speaks my name; you, with the arms that keep me at length; you, with the heart that won’t show its face…

The morning sun reverberated from the bronze sword. There was no longer even a vestige of blood. “Would you believe it, Ariadne?” said Theseus. “The Minotaur scarcely defended himself.”

Watch out, Cupid stuck me with a sickness – pull your little arrows out and let me live my life!

This song is for the people who tell their families that they're sorry for things they can't and won't feel sorry for.

Not one girl I think, who looks on the light of the sun, will ever have wisdom like this.

We carve up the world and crown it with numbers—lumens, ounces, decibels. All these things and what to do with them. We carve up the world all the time.

YOU – “You needn't have worried.” KIM KITSURAGI – “But I did. Anyway…” He looks around, a little uncomfortable now. ESPRIT DE CORPS (Easy: Success) – Dammit, you're a grown man, the lieutenant thinks. Shouldn't have gotten *protective* here.

We did not dare to breathe a prayer, Or give our anguish scope: Something was dead in each of us, And what was dead was Hope.

My husband had taken to referring to me as if I were someone else. How is my dearest wife today? he would ask, and I would stare back mutely and think, I don't know, how is she? Where is she? Who is she? Bring her here, so I can ask her how I am to live this life.

Although I may not be yours, I can never be another's.

If somebody loved you they'd tell you by now.

Is clinging to a memory what keeps the soul from fading? Why then, would that I could simply leave that glimmer of my past behind, for there is nothing for me here…

Everyone needs a place. It shouldn't be inside of someone else.

All that I want is a home, and all you can do is promise me, bold, that you won't let me grow dark or cold as long as we both shall live.

I'm an apple, you're the tree; I won't fall when you're shook.

World, forgive me, I'm so tired – I searched inside me, but the spark of fury has expired.

It's hard to talk about what you believe while you are believing it. Fervor reduces thought to shorthand and all we get is an icon. Give a man a weapon and you have a warrior. Put him on a horse and you have a hero. The weapon is a tool. The horse is a metaphor.

I've thought and thought, but there's no other way to give you the truth except to hide it in a story and let you find your own way inside.

If I gave up on being pretty, I wouldn't know how to be alive.

I will wash your hair at night and dry it off with care. I will see your body bare, and still I will live here.

And if I be with child, father, 'Twill prove a wondrous birth, For I will swear I'm not with child To any man on Earth. If my love were an earthly knight, As he's an elfin grey, I would not give my own true love For any lord you say.

The heavy and horrible beating of her heart… She shrieks – I tell you, she is outside the door! We put her living in the tomb!

So here I am, telling you about being scared, in the hope that it will make me feel it less.

Trust Eddie… but we feel different things. Not normal. Scary. If Eddie is good, why do we disagree? If disagree… am I monster? Parasite? Bad?

Now I’m deep in a forest, losing all thought of spring, and nothing can help me remember.

I know not whether Laws be right, Or whether Laws be wrong; All that we know who lie in gaol Is that the wall is strong; And that each day is like a year, A year whose days are long.

How's the world so small when the world is so large? And what made the world; could I please speak to who's in charge?

Every bruise is a hickey from the universe, and everyone wants to get with the universe.

There are dreams that cannot be, and there are storms we cannot weather.

I waited so long, and now I taste jasmine on my tongue, and I feel so proud to be alive! And I feel so proud when the reckoning arrives!

He looked, like the worst monsters often do, like a normal man.

The light is no mystery, the mystery is that there is something to keep the light from passing through.

He was… one of the only men I knew who did not look upon me as a threat. He saw something in me I never knew was there. And in turn, with him, I felt… How to describe it? Calm. Whole.

I used to have a pretty nice spine, but I neglected to give it a name, so each time I tried to straighten it I couldn't get its attention.

I hear your parties and your music in the evening. I hear your laughter and your singing creeping over the wall, so I taught myself to dance alone.

You made a labyrinth because I was born and they decided I was bad; I had branches where I shouldn't have had them.

Some days I feel she is a hotel. She needs cleaning from all the ghosts that continue to sleep inside of her.

You’ll never know me, none of you will ever see my face, no matter how much we long to face the unknown, and that’s okay.

And I will say and charge you with another thing, if you will be persuaded; do not lay my bones apart from yours, Achilles, but together, even as we were raised in your house, so let the same urn enclose the bones of us both, the golden amphora, which your lady mother gave you.

I think that I have lived with this story too long, too intensely, and that when I am finally finished with it, it will have taken something from me, a sliced away part to keep as it goes.

I know I butchered our Exquisite Corpse – your lines were tender and mine were morbid. I was just nervous that you would not be kind, so I poured blood on the knife.

Sometimes people leave you halfway through the wood. Do not let it grieve you—no one leaves for good.

I'll be your slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting, walking around with this bullet inside me like the bullet was already there, like it's been waiting inside me the whole time.

I hear your parties and your music in the evening. I hear your laughter and your singing creeping over the wall, so I taught myself to dance alone.