#breath

I knew in that moment, I would never love anyone in my life the way I loved Evan Mathews. ↗

— Rebecca Donovan

#emma-thomas #evan-mathews #love #reason-to-breathe #rebecca-donovan

Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. ↗

— Hilary Cooper

#happiness #life #moments #nice #life

How to be a Poet (to remind myself) Make a place to sit down. Sit down. Be quiet. You must depend upon affection, reading, knowledge, skill-more of each than you have-inspiration work, growing older, patience, for patience joins time to eternity… Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air. Shun electric wire. Communicate slowly. Live a three-dimensional life; stay away from screens. Stay away from anything that obscures the place it is in. There are so unsacred places; there are only sacred places and desecrated places. Accept what comes from silence. Make the best you can of it. Of the little words that come out of the silence, like prayers prayed back to the one who prays, make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came. ↗

— Wendell Berry

#how-to-be-a-poet #nature #poet #poetry #communication

In the vast reaches of the dry, cold night, thousands of stars were constantly appearing, and their sparkling icicles, loosened at once, began to slip gradually toward the horizon. ↗

— Albert Camus

#look-up-and-enjoy-life #perspective #relax #life

... If the dead can come back to this earth and move unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night—amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours—always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or if the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. ↗

— Paul Hoffman

#always #arbell #around #breath #breeze

Whenever you touch a poem that caresses your soul, breathe it gently for it might be the wind that perfects your life's goal. ↗

— A. Saleh

#goal #life #poem #wind #life

I could not give up either of these worlds, neither the book I am holding nor the gleaming forest, though I have told you almost nothing of what is said here on these grim pages, from the sentences of which I’ve conjured images of a bleak site years ago. Here in this room, I suppose, is to be found the interior world of the book; but it opens upon a world beyond the windows, where no event has been collapsed into syntax, where the vocabulary, it seems, is infinite. The indispensable connection for me lies with the open space (of the open window ajar year round, never closed) that lets the breath of every winter storm, the ripping wind and its pelting rain, enter the room. ↗

— Barry Lopez

#breathing #meditation #nature #reading #writing

With my last breath, I’ll exhale my love for you. I hope it’s a cold day, so you can see what you meant to me.
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#cold #commitment #devotion #dying #exhale

He was a heavy breather. You could hear him puffing and blowing into the mike up there like some large and sweaty animal. I don't like that, never have. My father is like that on the telephone. A lot of heavy breathing in your ear, so you can almost smell the scotch and Pall Malls on his breath. It always seems unsanitary and somehow homosexual. ↗

— Richard Bachman

#breathing #charlie #decker #king #rage

I think my prose reads as if English were my second language. By the time I get to the end of a paragraph, I'm dodging bullets and gasping for breath. ↗

— Lynn Abbey

#bullets #by the time #dodging #end #english