Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best; and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries, or cherries, the rich spurt in the back of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing. Give me the love who yanks open the door of his house and presses me to the wall in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I’m drenched and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload and begin their delicious diaspora through the cities and small towns of my body. To hell with the saints, with martyrs of my childhood meant to instruct me in the power of endurance and faith, to hell with the next world and its pallid angels swooning and sighing like Victorian girls. I want this world. I want to walk into the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along like I’m nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass, and I want to resist it. I want to go staggering and flailing my way through the bars and back rooms, through the gleaming hotels and weedy lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks where dogs are left off their leashes in spite of the signs, where they sniff each other and roll together in the grass, I want to lie down somewhere and suffer for love until it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again and put on that little black dress and wait for you, yes you, to come over here and get down on your knees and tell me just how f——— good I look
“Women see things in a man that men aren’t able to see themselves. They know what to look for. It’s more than just facial characteristics themselves. It’s the way a man carries himself, how he behaves, the way he treats people, the way he speaks, whether his eyes have a fire of purpose in them or are vacant, how he walks–and especially how he treats women. Everything mingles together. A woman responds to the whole man, not merely his face. When I say that you are handsome, it’s everything about the man you are. And now, with all that’s happened to you since, all you’ve become, how can I not think it all the more?”
"i will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning coffee, our noons our nights, our bodies spilled together, sleeping, the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever, your leg my leg, your arm my arm, your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again."
"When you start to really know someone, all his physical characteristics start to disappear. You begin to dwell in his energy, recognize the scent of his skin. You see only the essence of the person, not the shell. That’s why you can’t fall in love with beauty. You can lust after it, be infatuated by it, want to own it. You can love it with your eyes and body but not your heart. And that’s why, when you really connect with a person’s inner self, any physical imperfections disappear, become irrelevant."
I want someone who is fierce and will love me until death and know that love is as strong as death, and be on my side for ever and ever. I want someone who will destroy and be destroyed by me. There are many forms of love and affection, some people can spend their whole lives together without knowing each other’s names. Naming is a difficult and time consuming process; it concerns essences, and it means power. But on the wild nights who can call you home? Only the one who knows your name. Romantic love has been diluted into paperback form and has sold thousands and millions of copies. Somewhere it is still in the original, written on tablets of stone.
kiss me vehemently in alleyways, on bridges, and as we climb cathedral steps. in tiny and grand doorways alike, against walls of stone & brick & peeling paint. on park benches and train platforms. under street lamps and near trembling fountains.
If I’m having a bad day… if I’m not being the companion you need right now… please don’t get frustrated. Women like to put a good face on most of the time but some days, the stress, the difficulties of the day, the messiness of reality will all get to us at one time or another. A little tenderness will sooth the heartache and trials. I’ll adore you for it.
I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.
“See The Forest For The Trees: Try not to dwell on miniscule details and silly differences of opinion. He can like Deco and you can like Nouveau and still be madly in love. In the grand picture it matters not.”—