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Literature was intended to be dangerous. Art was meant to be dangerous. Ideas were nothing if they were not dangerous.

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Mark Strand

How those fires burned that are no longer, how the weather worsened, how the shadow of the seagull vanished without a trace. Was it the end of a season, the end of a life? Was it so long ago it seems it might never have been? What is it in us that lives in the past and longs for the future, or lives in the future and longs for the past? (from "No Words Can Describe It")

Past, Fire, Long Ago, Worsened, Life, Fires
Same Author Quotes

Even this late it happens: the coming of love, the coming of light.

Coming, Happens, Late, Light, Love

Sometimes he did not know if he slept or just thought about sleep.

Know, Knows, Sleep, Slept, Sometimes, Thought

We all have reasons for moving. I move to keep things whole.

Moving, Reason, Reasons, Things, Whole

These wrinkles are nothing These gray hairs are nothing, This stomach which sags with old food, these bruised and swollen ankles, my darkening brain, they are nothing. I am the same boy my mother used to kiss.

Boys, Hairs, Kiss, Kissing, Mother, Nothing

It came to my house. It sat on my shoulders. Your shadow is yours. I told it so. I said it was yours. I have carried it with me too long. I give it back.

Came, Give, Giving, House, Long
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