Love is the only engine of survival
The term clinical depression finds its way into too many conversations these days. One has a sense that a catastrophe has occurred in the psychic landscape.
Everybody knows that you've been faithful, give or take a night or two.
The art of longing's over, and it's never coming back.
Suffering, violent suffering, seems to be something that corresponds with something that we experience.
It's like a bear stumbling into a beehive or a honey cache: I'm stumbling right into it and getting stuck, and it's delicious and it's horrible and I'm in it and it's not very graceful and it's very awkward and it's very painful and yet there's something inevitable about it.