I wanted to write you a story about magic. I wanted rabbits appearing from hats. I wanted balloons … - Shane Jones

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I would much prefer their minds to be engaged in the deadly arts than clouded with dreams of marriage and fortune, as your own so clearly is!

Shane Jones

I wanted to write you a story about magic. I wanted rabbits appearing from hats. I wanted balloons lifting you into the sky. It turned out to be nothing but sadness, war, heartbreak. You never saw it, but there’s a garden inside me.

Heartbreak, Rabbits, Sadness, War, Write, Writing

Same Author Quotes

I’m so confused it almost feels calm.

Calm, Confused, Feels, So Confused

They held me and told me everything would be fine, that sadness would rise from our bones and evaporate in sunlight the way morning fog burned off the river in summer. My mother rubbed the kites on my hands and arms and told me to think of my lungs as balloons. I just want to feel safe, I said.

Hands, Morning, Mother, River, Summer, Sunlight

I’m always surprised when writers say they don’t believe in a god or religion but they believe in creating a world on two hundred pages using symbols. We’re all worshiping something.

Believe, Creating, Two, Worshiping, Writers

I dreamed you a field of running horses, Selah. For you, Bianca, a balloon the size of the sky, my body a kite you can throw into the air. Pull me by string and horse. Tell me everything won't end in death. That everything doesn't end with February. Dead wildflowers wrapped around a crying baby's throat. I've slowed my heartbeat to three beats a minute. I've redrawn the clouds into birds, a fox chasing them into the mountains. I'm going to move my hand today. I vomit ice cubes. There's a ghost next to me. Get up, Dad. (Light Boxes)

Baby, Balloon, Body, Ghost, Horse, Running

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People can't stand it when you deal with issues of race and class, and also sometimes the church, and you give a perspective that flushes out hypocrisy.

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But it's possible to love more than one person at a time, Bella. I've seen it in action.

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On New York subways in the 1980s: Riding on the IRT is usually a matter of serving time in one of the city's most squalid environments-noisy, smelly, crowded and overrun with a ceaseless supply of graffiti.

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I would much prefer their minds to be engaged in the deadly arts than clouded with dreams of marriage and fortune, as your own so clearly is!

Art, Arts, Clearly, Dream, Marriage, Mind

Stevie Smith

Truth is far and flat, and fancy is fiery; and truth is cold, and people feel the cold, and they may wrap themselves against it in fancies that are fiery, but they should not call them facts; and, generally, poets do not; they are shrewd, they feel the cold, too, but they know a hawk from a handsaw, a fact from a fancy, as none knows better.

Cold, Fact, Fancies, Fancy, May, People