If I had never split, I would be mirror instead of spark.

In good leaning of great tenderness,
another should be remembered,

possess who might have been.

will her mind rise up and leap out

of another hour and escape?

how many doors have I reached for
key and hand?

the last time I sent, I locked myself out,

you will save yourself.

What are you thinking?
Don’t this time. (Chris Stewart)


Danced as if these sparks

knowingly feast on individuals

two or three will be histories
which modify more than allude to.

other propensities act more powerfully

than cares and duties.

the exalted energy of distinguishing
end from this recollection.

instances, as well as injury, are concerned.

A word, the existence of which is regretted
for long enough to come

yearnings roamed over the body,
difficulty in providing a devil

the parent of sighs
and such oaths and blasphemy.

I am a root, a stone, an owl pellet,
Without dreams of any sort. (Sylvia Plath)     

Grief is the passion of humanity
but especially love in the young female.

a thousand circumstances are the domestic hearth
in a narrow circle of feelings

sit smiling at


great horror of

half an hour.

the effect of violet rage is
the system the heart beats,

the energy of a will
on the care for the smallest degree.

the essential fact in all manifestations
is the break-down of power,

and especially the higher kinds of power.

I shall say nothing;

present you with life,
a trace of high colour.

pretty heart and sudden voice
wind to her throat and the

sensation of attack ends

There’s only two things I’d always change if you asked me:
You’ve got a motor for a mouth. (Chris Stewart)

Observe, the violent limits of sanity

the milder feeling of self-torture

the making up of the

plainest duty

any tenderness

is exceedingly small.
help is
fanatically narrow.

they were

quite free in their younger


a very small change of life.