novelist

I've written you sixty-seven love poems.Here__ another one for you.But really, for me.These poems are the candles that I light with the fire you have ignited in me.I place this candle here and another thereso even if the stars have argued with the moonand are sulking away in a corner, you can still find your way to me.Sixty-eight poems now. What does the future hold for us?Joy? Disappointment? Gentle caresses? And subtle neglect?I hope the good is more than the bad. Much more. For what is the point of loveif by lighting these candlesour own flame loses its brightness?I know the good is more than the bad. Much more.I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.

All I need to dois place my pen against paperand your lovewrites for me.

I don__ want to be remembered for my work. I want to be remembered for my love.

While victors may get to write history, novelists get to write/right reality.

Sit here, so I may writeyou into a poem and make you eternal.

For what was it about books that once finished left the reader in a bit of a haze and made them reread the last few sentences in order to continue the ringing in their hearts a while longer, so as not to let the silence illumine the fact that reading, they had gained something _ distance, a lesson, a companion, a new world _ but now, after the last full stop, they had lost something palpable and felt a little emptier than before.

I am going to build a fortress of books.Will you come inside and live with me?

She was in awe of all his work. 'How do you do it?" she asked.He smiled and said, 'By loving you.

Poetry isn__ an island, it is the bridge. Poetry isn__ a ship, it is the lifeboat. Poetry isn__ swimming. Poetry is water.

It is a dangerous thing to substitute reading or writing for living. Live first, then write.

These poems are cupsthat I pour my life into.Here, Drink!

There is no revelation in my words. I am merely stating what others have forgotten to write down.

I came to pen another poem for you, but even every unwritten poem is you.

I write because the security of your love allows me to develop my craft without concerning myself with trivialities _ as if your love could be any more complete. But I write, in the first place,because of you, my muse. I write for your green eyes to glance at my humble words and for the pleasure of hearing you utter them.

Nothing travels faster than the speed of light, with the possible exception of bad news, which obeys its own special laws.

Reading poetry is like undressing before a bath. You don't undress out of fear that your clothes will become wet. You undress because you want the water to touch you. You want to completely immerse yourself in the feeling of the water and to emerge anew.

I only wrote prose before I met you. My musings were superfluous and serious as well. But now the words dance with me. I sing with them and we create poetry.

Every book has to wait for the right time to be read and understood.