71 Quotes by Mary Szybist

. . . where we lounged through summer days, waiting for something to happen

in this moment or that one, why do I miss younow, but not now,my old idea of you, the feeling for you I lostand remade so many times until it wassomething else, as strange as your touchwas familiar.

Mary secretly thinks she is pretty and therefore deserves to be loved.

Our Lady! is dizzy,ill, among sparrows

I lost him so uncontrollably, you understand

There were so many things I wanted to tell you.Or rather, I wished to have things that I wanted to tell you.What a thing, to be with you and haveno words for it. What a thing,to be outcast like that.And then everything unfastened.It was like something was always dissolvinginside you—Already it's hard to rememberhow you used to comb your hair or how youtilted your broad face in green shade.Now what seas, what meaningscan I place in you?

So when you come to me in your opulent sadness, I see you do not want meto unbutton youso I cannot do the one thingI can do.

Lift up your head.Time to enter yourself.Time to make your own sorrow.

Literature is falling away.