It is as inhuman to be totally good as it is to be totally evil.
I guess I find the boundaries between poetry and prose to be somewhat permeable.
I had the feeling that if I encountered anyone they would intuit my disgrace and would judge me instantly. Nothing is more isolating than having a particular history. At least that's what I thought. Now I know: all pain is the same. Only the details are different.
You want to fall, that's all. You think it can't go on like that. It's as if your life is a perch on the edge of a cliff and going forward seems impossible, not for a lack of will, but a lack of space. The possibility of another day stands in defiance of the laws of physics. And you can't go back. So you want to fall, let go, give up, but you can't. And every breath you take reminds you of that fact. So it goes.
My personal opinion is that if someone writes honestly about war, it will inherently be anti-war.
There's something immediate about the experience of reading a poem. It makes sense in my own mind, but I'm trying to figure out a way to articulate it. . . It's like looking at a painting: you're able to take in the totality of the work all at once, and so processing whatever information that painting is giving you is almost secondary to simply apprehending what's in front of you.
I can't envision an honest war novel that left war in a positive light.
You might be a redneck if you're still scalping tickets after the concert is over.
I got this grave yard woman.
Gansey turned the key. The engine turned over once, paused for the briefest of moments - and then roared to deafening life. The Camaro lived to fight another day. The radio was even working, playing the Stevie Nicks song that always sounded to Gansey like it was about a one-winged dove.
When I was born, the umbilical cord came wrapped around my neck, so when I came out, I wasn't breathing. The cord had cut off my oxygen - not the entire time, just at the end, when my mom was giving birth. When I came out, I wasn't conscious, so they had to work on bringing me back. It was a crazy moment.