The phoenix must burn to emerge.
Janet Fitch
I thought clay must feel happy in the good potter's hand.
art thought happy good feel adoration hand
I took the volume to a table, opened its soft, ivory pages.. And fell into it as into a pool during dry season.
reading pages books
failure death rebirth burn phoenix
And if there is no god?You act as if there is, and it's the same thing.
belief faith god
Rena noticed me watching it pass. 'You think they don't got problem?' Rena said. 'Everybody got problem. You got me, they got insurance, house payment, Preparation H.' She smiled, baring the part between her two upper teeth. 'We are the free birds. They want to be us.
problems envy wanting freedom
She would be half a planet away, floating in a turquoise sea, dancing by moonlight to flamenco guitar.
dance color ocean freedom
The cake had a trick candle that wouldn't go out, so I didn't get my wish. Which was just that it would always be like this, that my life could be a party just for me.
birthday wishes happiness sentimentality wishing hope
What can I say about life? Do I praise it for letting you live, or damn it for allowing the rest?
life live praise bitter hope
Don't turn over the rocks if you don't want to see the pale creatures who live under them.
inspirational
Isn't it funny.I'm enjoying my hatred so much more than i ever enjoyed love. Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you, changes its mind. But hatred, now, that's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard, or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but Hatred cradles you.
enjoy hate hatred
Always learn poems by heart. They have to become the marrow in your bones. Like fluoride in the water, they'll make your soul impervious to the world's soft decay.
poetry hard
Always learn poems by heart,' she said. 'They have to become the marrow in your bones. Like fluoride in the water, they'll make your soul impervious to the world's soft decay.
poetry
They dream of men with gentle hands, eloquent with tenderness, fingers that brushed along a cheek, that outlined open lips in the lovers' braille. Hands that sculpted sweetness from sullen flesh, that traced breast and ignited hips, opening, kneading. Flesh becomes bread in the heat of those hands, braided and rising.
women men body
A cliche is everything you've ever heard of.
writing inspirational
Remember.. We don't see objects, we see light. [..] Light can do anything water can do--flow, wash, trickle. It can do anything an artist can do--paint, burnish, carve. Candlelight falls, licks a face. There is always light in a room.
writing advice description
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