Give me, you said, on our very first night, the forest. I rose from the bed and went out, and when I returned, you listened, enthralled, to the shadowy story I told. Give me the river, you asked the next night, then I’ll love you forever. I slipped from your arms and was gone, and when I came back, you listened, at dawn, to the glittering story I told. Give me, you said, the goldfrom the sun. A third time, I got up and dressed, and when I came home, you sprawled on my breast, for the dazzling story I told. Give me, the hedgerows, give me the fields, I slid from the warmth of our sheets, and when I returned, to kiss you from sleep, you stirred at the story I told.give me the silvery cold, of the moon. I pulled on my boots and my coat, but when i came back, moonlight on your throatoutshone the story I told Give me, you howledon our sixth night together, the wind in the trees. You turned to the wall as I left, and when I came home, I saw you were deafto the blustering story I told. Give me the sky, all the spaceit can hold. I left you, the last night we loved, and when I returned, you were gone with the gold, and the silver, the river, the forest, the fields, and this is the story I’ve told." Give . Carol Ann Duffy
I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.
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Marilyn Monroe
You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching, Love like you'll never be hurt, Sing like there's nobody listening, And live like it's heaven on earth.
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William W. Purkey
You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.
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Dr. Seuss
A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you.
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Elbert Hubbard
Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.
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Unknown
More Quotes By Carol Ann Duffy
What will you do now with the gift of your left life?
The bed we loved in was a spinning world of forests, castles, torchlight, clifftops, seaswhere we would dive for pearls. My lover’s wordswere shooting stars which fell to earth as kisseson these lips; my body now a softer rhymeto his, now echo, assonance; his toucha...
Love’s language starts, stops, starts; the right words flowing or clotting in the heart.
Then he started his period. One week in bed. Two doctors in. Three painkillers four times a day. And later a letter to the powers-that-bedemanding full-paid menstrual leave twelve weeks per year.
Poetry, above all, is a series of intense moments - its power is not in narrative. I'm not dealing with facts, I'm dealing with emotion.
