Oh dear god! I’m sitting in the “living room” in my dorm, and this guy came in with his guitar. I’ve seen him a few times, just strumming, messing around, and I think I’ve heard him sing once. Well, I’m writing postcards, and on my computer, and I asked him if he can sing, since I wanted to hear his voice. And wow. Just wow. He is absolutely phenomenal, and really freakin handsome. Now, I can only hope he doesn’t think I’m a total weirdo for stalling, for sitting in here, simply so I can hear his beautiful voice.
"I will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers. I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air, alive, with closed eyes." - E.E. Cummings
"Do not tell everyone your story. You will only end up feeling more rejected. People cannot give you what you long for in your heart. The more you expect from people’s response to your experience of abandonment, the more you will feel exposed to ridicule." - Henri J.M. Nouwen
"What we seek, at the deepest level, is to inwardly resemble, rather than physically to possess, the objects and places that touch us through their beauty." - Alain de Botton
"Everything is packed into a second which is either consummated or not consummated. The earth is not an arid plateau of health and comfort, but a great sprawling female with velvet torso that swells and heaves with ocean billows; she squirms beneath a diadem of sweat and anguish. Naked and sexed she rolls among the clouds in the violet light of the stars. All of her, from her generous breasts to her gleaming thighs, blazes with furious ardor. She moves amongst the seasons and the years with a grand whoopla that seizes the torso with paroxysmal fury, that shakes the cobwebs out of the sky; she subsides on her pivotal orbits with volcanic tremors. She is like a doe at times, a doe that has fallen into a snare and lies waiting with beating heart for the cymbals to crash and the dogs to bark. Love and hate, despair, pity, rage, disgust—what are these amidst the fornications of the planets? What is war, disease, cruelty, terror, when night presents the ecstasy of myriad blazing suns? What is this chaff we chew in our sleep if it is not the remembrance of fang whorl and star cluster." - Henry Miller
"The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love and to be greater than our suffering." - Ben Okri