#ems

Can knowledge be conveyed that isn't felt? But if transport's the problem - they tell me get a job and earn yourself an automobile-I'd rather collect my parts as I go: chair, desk, house and crankshaft Shakespeare. Generator boy, Paul, love is carried if it's held. ↗

— Lorine Niedecker

#love

...some of the best love poems have been written by monks and nuns... ↗

— John Geddes

#monks #nuns #poems #love

I uttered his name like a silent whisper of the falling rain - saying love is his game as the cool breeze sets in."- Elizabeth's Shorter Poems ↗

— Elizabeth E. Castillo

#love #short-poems #whisper #love

Eve was happy for her bestie. She just wished she had a guy who would look at her the way Seth looked at her friend, eyes all starry. No, that wasn't it. Or it wasn't completely it. Eve knew there were guys at school who liked her and would give her the Seth-look if she gave them the opportunity. But she didn't want the look from any of those guys. She wanted the look she could give the look back to. She wanted to find a guy she could all-out love who would all-out love her back. ↗

— Amy Meredith

#girl-problems #happiness #longing #love #wistful

Within the covers of the Bible are the answers for all the problems men face. ↗

— Ronald Reagan

#bible #covers #face #men #problems

War is only a cowardly escape from the problems of peace. ↗

— Thomas Mann

#cowardly #escape #only #peace #problems

you fix what you can fix and you let the rest go. If there ain't nothin to be done about it it aint even a problem. It's just a aggravation. ↗

— Cormac McCarthy

#men

The world is what it is; men who are nothing, who allow themselves to become nothing, have no place in it. ↗

— V. S. Naipaul

#become #men #nothing #place #themselves

Chanson d’automne Les sanglots longs Des violons De l’automne Blessent mon coeur D’une langueur Monotone. Tout suffocant Et blême, quand Sonne l’heure, Je me souviens Des jours anciens Et je pleure ; Et je m’en vais Au vent mauvais Qui m’emporte Deçà, delà, Pareil à la Feuille morte. ↗

— Paul Verlaine

#men

Evening by evening Among the Brookside rushes, Laura bow'd her head to hear, Lizzie veil'd her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather, With clasping arms and cautioning lips, With tingling cheeks and fingertips. "lie close," Laura said, Pricking up her golden head: "We must not look at Goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: who knows upon the soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?" "Come buy," call the Goblins Hobbling down the glen ↗

— Christina Rossetti

#goblin-market #poems #men