Why shouldn’t gay people be allowed to marry? Those against gay marriages say marriage should only be between a man and a woman. God…I of all people know that that doesn’t always work.
Elizabeth Taylor, receiving the Vanguard Award at the GLAAD Media Awards, 2000
Most mornings here, mist is the first thing to go —first
the mist, then the fog, though hardly anyone seems to
know
the difference, or even care, the way for some a dead buck
is a dead buck: the road, the body, a little light, the usual
dark, light’s
unshakeable escort...You can love a man
more than he’ll ever love back or be able to, you can
confuse
your understanding of that
with a thing like acceptance or,
worse, all you’ve ever deserved. I’ve driven hard into
the gorgeousness of spring before; it fell hard behind me:
the turning away, I mean, the finding of clothes,
the maneuvering
awkwardly back into them...why not drive
forever? Respect or shame, it’s pretty much your
own choice, is how it once got explained to me. I’ve already
said—I’m not sorry. Magnolia. Wild pear. So what if one
wish begets a next one,
only to be conquered by it, if the blooms
break open nevertheless like hope?
So, some of you probably remember those batches of graphics I dropped on here a few weeks ago. Most of the ones I made at the time were lyrics from Taylor Swift’s folklore, but I also made some using snippets from my favorite poems, and it just so happens that I found one containing lines from today’s poem. I hope you like it. Disclaimer: I am not nor do I claim to be a professional graphic designer.
Thanks as always for being a faithful reader of The Voracious Bibliophile. If you like what you see, please like, comment, follow, and subscribe to my email list to get notified of new posts as soon as they drop. You can also email me at fred.slusher@thevoraciousbibliophile.com or catch me on Twitter and Instagram @voraciousbiblog. Keep reading the world, one page (or pixel) at a time.
People ask me all the time — what kind of stories do you want to tell, Viola? And I say exhume those bodies. Exhume those stories — the stories of the people who dreamed big and never saw those dreams to fruition, people who fell in love and lost.
Viola Davis
When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.
Lao Tzu
People become attached to their burdens sometimes more than the burdens are attached to them.
George Bernard Shaw
If you get close to what you love, who you are is revealed to you.
Ethan Hawke
Today’s quote resonates with me in a very profound way. I think the most beautiful thing in the world must be witnessing, or better yet experiencing, certainty to purpose. So many of us stumble through life chasing things that don’t really hold any value, but when we find something we love, we’re fools if we don’t grab ahold of it and never let it go.
We only have one shot at getting this right. One chance at deciding what matters and who we’re going to be.
My hope for myself, and for all of you reading this, is that we have the courage to wake up every day and choose ourselves, to prioritize our dreams over life’s routines and mundanities. We only have one shot at getting this right. One chance at deciding what matters and who we’re going to be. The stakes couldn’t be higher. Live—and love—with no regrets. Or don’t. It’s up to you.
Thanks as always for being a faithful reader of The Voracious Bibliophile. If you like what you see, please like, comment, follow, and subscribe to my email list to get notified of new posts as soon as they drop. You can also email me at fred.slusher@thevoraciousbibliophile.com or catch me on Twitter and Instagram @voraciousbiblog. Keep reading the world, one page (or pixel) at a time.
Sometimes people let the same problem make them miserable for years when they could just say, ‘So what?’ That’s one of my favorite things to say. ‘So what?’
Andy Warhol
I think people who believe in something can love each other more.
San Francisco (1936); directed by Woody Van Dyke
A child is born, and the world sets in upon it. Taking things from it, stuffing things into it. Each bite of food, each particle of light entering the eye – the body can never be pure.
The wound is the place where the light enters you.
Rumi
The Voracious Bibliophile 