How lucky I am to lose sleep over such a work of art.
Taylor Patton.
“Allow the fear to keep you sensible but not to keep you still. If you're afraid of the dark then open your eyes, see that you are home.”
“If you wake with a change of direction, deciding you hate who you've been,Remember, I loved you every yesterday as I will continue to love you then.Whomever person you become I shall worship and wh...”
“Some plant lips on Mother Earth in a display of gratitude.Meanwhile, she is kissing the soles of your feet, recognizing the one to be worshiped is you.”
“In your hands I am no longer a pile of bones left behind to a world that moved on.”
“Towards these weeks of rain I give effusive praise. Let me always be reminded that there is time for change.”
“And there you sit.My eyes burning a hole on the side of your face while the stars are being captured in your eyes from the prolonged, there's-plenty-of-time, full attention you're giving each one.A...”
“To create art with all the passion in one's soul is to live art with all the beauty in one's heart.”
“art is risk made visible”
“Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.”
“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that youve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you sa...”
“As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.”
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there i...”
“Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.No soldier's paid to kick against His powers.We laughed, knowing that better men would come,And greater wars: whe...”
“I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.”
“It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.”
