Colette says:


consumed by their senses,
always begin by flinging
with a great
display of frenzy into
an abyss.

But they survive,
they come to the surface again.
And they develop a routine
of the abyss:

“It’s four o clock.
At five I have my abyss…”

Elizabeth Bishop says:

elizabethbishop“I am in need of music
that would flow

Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted,
trembling lips,

With melody, deep, clear,
and liquid-slow.

Oh, for the healing swaying,
old and low,

Of some song sung to
rest the tired dead,

A song to fall like
water on my head,

And over quivering limbs,
dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest,
and quiet breath,
and cool Heart,

that sinks through
fading colors deep

To the subaqueous
stillness of the sea,

And floats forever in a
moon-green pool,

Held in the arms of
rhythm and of sleep.”

Margaret Mitchell says:


She was darkness and he was darkness and there had never been anything before this time, only darkness and his lips upon her.

She tried to speak and his mouth was over hers again.

Suddenly she had a wild thrill such as she had never known;

Joy, fear, madness, excitement, surrender to arms that were too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast.”