I know it’s stupid to not own a gun yet have so many triggers, but in some other … - Jeffrey McDaniel

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My weakness. . . is architecture. I think of my work as ephemeral architecture, dedicated to the beauty of the female body.

Jeffrey McDaniel

I know it’s stupid to not own a gun yet have so many triggers, but in some other world gigantic seashells hold humans to their ears and listen to the echo of machines.

Echoes, Gigantic, Gun, Know, Listen, Stupid

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I realise there's something incredibly honest about trees in winter, how they're experts at letting things go.

Heartbroken, Honest, Incredibly, Letting Go, Realise, Winter

I've had the wind knocked out of me, but never the hurricane

Anger, Wind, Poetry, Hurricane, Knocked

Even when I'm dead, I'll swim through the Earth, like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.

Earth, Like, Mermaid, Soil, Swim

If you heard your lover scream in the next room and you ran in and saw his pinkie on the floor, in a small puddle of blood. You wouldn't rush to the pinkie and say, 'Darling, are you OK? ' No, you'd wrap your arms around his shoulders and worry about the pinkie later. The same holds true if you heard the scream, ran in and saw his hand or -god forbid- his whole arm. But suppose you hear your lover scream in the next room, and you run in and his head is on the floor next to his body. Which do you rush to and comfort first?

Blood, Body, Hands, Puddle, Running, Whole

I've been ignored by prettier women than you, but none who carried the heavy pitchers of silence so far, without spilling a drop.

Silence, Ignored, Spilling, Heavy, Women

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Emile Zola

If something's just, I'll let myself be hacked to bits for it.

Bits, Hacked, Ifs, Let

Black Elk

When I got back to my father and mother and was sitting up there in our tepee, my face was still all puffed and my legs and arms were badly swollen; but I felt good all over and wanted to get right up and run around.

Face, Father, Good, Mother, Running, Sitting

John Woolman

After I had given up to go, the thoughts of the journey were often attended with unusual sadness, at which times my heart was frequently turned to the Lord with inward breathings for his heavenly support, that I might not fail to follow him wheresoever he might lead me.

Heart, Heavenly, Journey, Lead, Sadness, Wheresoever

John Ashbery

But always and sometimes questioning the old modes And the new wondering, the poem, growing up through the floor, Standing tall in tubers, invading and smashing the ritual Parlor, demands to be met on its own terms now, Now that the preliminary negotiations are at last over.

Demand, Demands, Growing Up, Life, Met, Poem

Christian Dior