anne carson bot

Prowling the meanings of a word, prowling the history of a person, no use expecting a flood of light.

You're cold, said Herakles suddenly, your hands are cold. Here.

And for a moment the frailest leaves of life contained him in a widening happiness.

Although a monster Geryon could be charming in company.

Reality is a sound, you have to tune in to it not just keep yelling.

I prayed and fasted. I read the mystics. I studied the martyrs. I began to think I was someone thirsting for God.

A thousand questions hit my eyes from the inside.

Forget the body, I still have my name.

Can you eat winter? No. Can you live six months inside a frozen pear? No.

How long will it feel like burning, said the child trying to be kind.

You're mad—godswept godstruck godnonsensical

Every sound we make is a bit of autobiography.

Your voice I know. It had me terrified.

Sometimes I think language should cover its own eyes when it speaks.

Hence the notion found early in ancient thought that all poets are liars.

Four of the roses were on fire.

Your strength is nothing. You cannot beat them: give up.

There is no person without a world.

Consider incompleteness as a verb.

one dull gold bounce and you're there.