Wednesday, October 27, 2010

out here's too cold and i don't want to walk it alone

when i was lost, you thought me a beautiful find.
sometimes i think of you sleeping, so sleep for awhile.


from Beggar's Prayer by Emiliana Torrini

she was still as still.

This was because she knew few words and believed in none, and in the world she was rather silent, contributing just her share of urbane humor with a precision that approached meagerness. But at the moment when strangers tended to grow uncomfortable in the presence of this economy she would seize the topic and rush off with it, feverishly surprised with herself - then bring it back and relinquish it abruptly, almost timidly, like an obedient retriever, having been adequate and something more.


from Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald