#poetic

APPLES SCENT, You arrive in the basement. Immediatly it catches you. Apples are here, lying on fruit trays, turned crates. You didn't think about it. You had no wish to be flooded by this melancholic wave. But you can't resist. Apple scent is a breaker. How could you manage without this childhood, bitter and sweet ? Shrivelled fruits surely are delicious, from this feak dryness where candied taste seems to have wormed in each wrinkle. But you don't wish to eat them. Particularly don't turn into an identifiable taste this floating power of smell. Say that it smells good, strong? But not ..... It's beyond .... An inner scent, scent of a better oneself. Here is shut up school autumn, with purple ink we scratch paper with down strokes and thin strokes. Rain bangs against glasses, evening will be long .... But apple perfume is more than past. You think about formerly because of fullness and intensity from a remembrance of salpetered cellar, dark attic. But it's to live here, stay here, stand up. You have behind you high herbs and damp orchards. Ahead it's like a warm blow given in the shade. Scent got all browns, all reds with a bit of green acid. Scent distilled skin softness, its tiny roughness. Lips dried, we alreadyt know that this thirst is not to be slaked. Nothing would happen if you bite the white flesh. You would need to become october, mud floor, moss of cellar, rain, expectation. Apple scent is painful. It's from a stronger life, a slowness we deserve no more. ↗

— Philippe Delerm

#life

When that part of the woman meets with a man, all the flowers in the world suddenly bloom! All the birds of the world gather together and sing. The entire world turns golden, and your body becomes completely relaxed and you're not sure whether you're floating on clouds of feathers. The universe comes alive, like fireworks in the night. ↗

— Kim Dong Hwa

#poetic #sex #love

And now, my poor old woman, why are you crying so bitterly? It is autumn. The leaves are falling from the trees like burning tears- the wind howls. Why must you mimic them? ↗

— Mervyn Peake

#copy #cry #crying #despair #fall

Bracy sighed, "So this wasn't the heart...it was the head." "Bracy don't try to be poetic; it doesn't suit you. ↗

— Nicole Sager

#head #heart-of-arcrea #humor #poetic #talon

Ty?” I said, trying out your name, liking the way it sounded. “So what’s it like anyway? Australia?” You smiled then, and your whole face changed with it. It kind of lit up, like there were sunbeams coming from inside you. “You’ll find out,” you said. ↗

— Lucy Christopher

#dark #poetic-fiction #change

Being Adam Parrish was a complicated thing, a wonder of muscles and organs, synapses and nerves. He was a miracle of moving parts, a study in survival. The most important thing to Adam Parrish, though, had always been free will, the ability to be his own master. This was the important thing. It had always been the important thing. This was what it was to be Adam. ↗

— Maggie Stiefvater

#poetic #sweet #inspirational

I write the word solitude on my wall and then below it: Do you know me at all? Are my words just air? Is my heart easy to spare? ↗

— Jessica Sorensen

#death

If money isn't everything, why do we toss coins into wishing wells? ↗

— Jaf Liethers

#money #poem #poetic #quote #wealth

Fables should be taught as fables, myths as myths, and miracles as poetic fantasies. To teach superstitions as truths is a most terrible thing. The child mind accepts and believes them, and only through great pain and perhaps tragedy can he be in after years relieved of them. ↗

— Hypatia

#after #believes #child #fables #fantasies

Each moment is a poetic expression of the undefined. As long as it remains undefined, it has all the beauty of the world and it steps inside to nurture your dreams. ↗

— Grigoris Deoudis

#dreams #expression #moment #nurture #poetic