categorized under:


“Now through the white orchard my little dog
romps, breaking the new snow
with wild feet.
Running here running there, excited,
hardly able to stop, he leaps, he spins
until the white snow is written upon
in large, exuberant letters,
a long sentence, expressing
the pleasures of the body in this world.

Oh, I could not have said it better myself.”

more info

source: “The Storm,” in Winter Hours: Prose, Prose Poems, and Poems (New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2000), 90.

view on Google Books

category: , , , ,

medium: Poem

“Why I miss the trolley cars. Because unlike everything and everybody else in the U.S. they did not swerve from their ancient path. And because as a boy (thousands of years ago) I went to Coney Island in a trolley car, and saw grass growing between the tracks and because it was an open trolley, with the conductor on the side hopping from row to row to collect his fares (his left arm holding the rail as he hopped) and because it seemed to me then (as does not happen now on the bus) that the other passengers were all my family, all Brooklyn. And because as we neared the sea, and could see its blue glare on the surface, everyone (at least in the back row) burst out singing.”

more info

source: May 21, 1984 entry in Alfred Kazin’s Journals, selected and edited by Richard M. Cook (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 2011), 504.

buy on Amazon

category: , , , , , , ,

medium: Journal

“He had never seen a woman who wore her clothes with such apparent joy. And the clothes themselves looked as if, in being draped on her body, they had won new life for themselves.”

more info

source: Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman (New York: Vintage, 2007), 192.

buy on Amazon
view on Google Books

category: , , ,

medium: Fiction

“The commander’s words relieve their stricken hearts: ‘My comrades, hardly strangers to pain before now, we all have weathered worse. Some god will grant us an end to this as well. You’ve threaded the rocks resounding with Scylla’s howling rabid dogs, and taken the brunt of the Cyclops’ boulders, too. Call up your courage again. Dismiss your grief and fear. A joy it will be one day, perhaps, to remember even this.'”

more info

source: The Aeneid, translated by Robert Fagles (New York: Viking Penguin, 2006), 54.

view on Google Books

category: , , , , ,

medium: poetry

Quality Quote Collecting