Phaedra: I love you.
Hippolytus: Why?
Phaedra: You're difficult. Moody, cynical, bitter, fat, decadent, spoilt. You stay in bed all day then watch TV all night, you crash around this house with sleep in your eyes and not a thought for anyone. You're in pain. I adore you.
Hippolytus: Not very logical.
Phaedra: Love isn't.

Thinking a lot tonight about all three of my sisters. If there is a heaven... I hope they're all there laughing and happy. And, my father too, of course... and little Zachary. I love and miss all of you so much.


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Moment of Death ( Read more... )

http://www.youtube.com/watch#!v=7TNvfgMZKP0

And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine
Burned like the ruby fire set
In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine,
Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate,
Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet
With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.

The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing ( Read more... )

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And
each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.


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