It's too intimate, and forget the mold in the walls: this is the shit that impedes Newt's breathing, Hermann's supposed to be the one on exhale duty and he can't just stop like this, can't just look back when Newt looks at him.
Mother Courage drags her cart behind her; Brecht dragged his poems and plays behind him during a decade of havoc and ruin that drove him to the far corners of the world.
EDWARD. I’ll bandy with the barons and the earls, And I'll either die or live with Gaveston. GAVESTON. (Coming forward) I can no longer keep me from my lord.
You’ve observed all that. But you knew it from the start. I think you’re here for something else. And what might that be? Friendship. I think you’re lonely.
All alone, but still I hear their yearning. Through the dark, the moon, alone there, burning. The stars too, they tell of spring returning. And summer with another wind that no one yet has known.
Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound, but while you debate half-empty or half-full, it slowly rises: your love is gonna drown
I liked to think a lot of stuff about myself. ‘Being contrarian about everything isn’t offputting, it just demonstrates critical thinking.’ ‘It’s not weird that you still wear your hair in twin braids at your age.’ ‘No one can tell that you’re depressed.’
What if she had been telling the truth? What if I really was someone else? Someone beautiful and powerful. Someone buried alive and suffocating to death. Very far away, on the other side of the television screen.
Simone’s “Suzanne” sounds like someone she knows, someone to whom she’s told awful secrets while drunk on brown liquor. Simone breathes such life into the woman, she might as well be Simone’s own creation. Suzanne, meet Peaches.
She flings the goblet aside and takes up the axe that’s lying among a pile. The Lydian two-bladed axe. She turns, looks at him. He looks at her in disbelief as she fingers the edge. You want my love, she says, here it is, here’s all you understand, here’s all my love.
And this bright star, having traced its parabola with inexpressible through immeasurable space, seems suddenly to have stopped—like an arrow piercing the earth. Stopped for me…
It takes a certain kind of person To think your love entitles you to violate the laws of the world To expect the heavens to defer to your ambitions Today I learn: My husband is not a noble man
The Furies swoop down on him to wreak their revenge; they give him to understand that he will never be forgiven. Apollo’s bow doesn’t work, it provides only momentary relief: Apollo is out of his depth here. These are older gods.
