“I need to be alone. I need to ponder my shame and my despair in seclusion; I need the sunshine and the paving stones of the streets without companions, without conversation, face to face with myself, with only the music of my heart for company.”—Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer
A conversation with Isabel Monteiro and Jeff Buckley about happiness
Jeff Buckley:You know, it's like we've got this weather system trapped inside us - in the pit of the stomach, the clouds are always forming and waiting to rise. Even when everything's sunny, the clouds are always there, brewing. And every now and again they rise up and it pours for days, sometimes weeks; then it dies away, the sun comes out and the whole thing starts again. We're stuck with it, the clouds within.
Isabel Monteiro:But that means we can never be happy??
Jeff Buckley:Yeah, that's right, people like us can never be happy.
That first night, you took your finger and pointed to the top of my head, then traced a line between my eyes, down my nose, over my lips, my chin, my neck, to the center of my chest. It was so surprising, I knew I would never mimic it. That one gesture would be yours forever.”—David Levithan, The Lover’s Dictionary
“Run my dear, from anything that may not strengthen your precious budding wings. Run like hell my dear, from anyone likely to put a sharp knife Into the sacred, tender vision of your beautiful heart.”—Hafiz
I love men. I mean, I really love men. I love the way they smell, I love the way they taste. I love the veins in their forearms and the hair on their chests. I love the feel of their scruffy faces and lightly calloused hands against yours. I love the dimples in their backs, the muscles bustling under the skin. I love their tattoos and their freckles and their scars. I love their height and their strength. I love the V’s on their hips and the slight in their steps. I love their deep, gravelly voices and their stubbornness. I love the way they look in three piece suits, I love them in jeans and t-shirts. I love when they feel like naked means everything but their socks, and I love when those smiles tickle the corners of their mouths because they’re thinking about someone they love. I love how their jaws clench when they’re trying to suppress their rage. I love it when they lift you off your feet in a hug, when they nibble on the nape of your neck. I love their scrappiness, their softness, their unpredictability and their stability. I love when they play video games; when they read books; when they play basketball; when they answer your phone call with “hey, babe”; when they pet their cats; when they talk to their dogs in high pitched voices; when they hold babies; and when they sit on the other end of the couch with your feet in their lap and tickle your soles every time you let your guard down. I love their loyalty. I love their differences and similarities. I love that there are good ones and ‘bad’ ones and in between ones and that finding the right one for you can be a struggle but is usually damn well worth it in the end.
I just really love them, and I felt like saying so. So I did.
“I dream of my library. It is a colorful library in a colorful house that I do not yet own. But somehow I can still see it. I see it filled with the books of my childhood and the books that accompanied me through adulthood. They are my treasures, yellowed from time and tenderly dogeared at their edges. I dream of my library being tiny maps into my soul, with each book revealing another part of who I am. I dream that someday I will be gone but my library will remain.”—