Relationships and Family
Federico García Lorca
I touched her sleeping breasts, and they opened to me suddenly like spikes of hyacinth.
Robert Graves
As you are woman, so be lovely: As you are lovely, so be various, Merciful as constant, constant as various, So be mine, as I yours for ever.
E. E. Cummings
and nothing quite so least as truth —i say though hate were why men breathe— because my father lived his soul love is the whole and more than all
E. E. Cummings
anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn’t he danced his did.
E. E. Cummings
my father moved through dooms of love through sames of am through haves of give, singing each morning out of each night my father moved through depths of height
E. E. Cummings
in Just- spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame balloonman whistles far and wee
Dorothy Parker
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Roumania.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning;
T. S. Eliot
Home is where one starts from. As we grow older The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated Of dead and living. Not the intense moment Isolated, with no before and after, But a lifetime burning in every moment And not the lifetime of one man only But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
T. S. Eliot
Sudden in a shaft of sunlight Even while the dust moves There rises the hidden laughter Of children in the foliage Quick now, here, now, always— Ridiculous the waste sad time Stretching before and after.
T. S. Eliot
When lovely woman stoops to folly 4 and Paces about her room again, alone, She smooths her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone.
Ezra Pound
Some quick to arm, some for adventure, some from fear of weakness, some from fear of censure, some for love of slaughter, in imagination, learning later… some in fear, learning love of slaughter; Died some, pro patria, walked eye-deep in hell believing in old men’s lies, the unbelieving came home, home to a lie.
Edgar Albert Guest
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home, A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have Afore ye really ’preciate the things ye lef’ behind, An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus on yer mind.
