Only a foolish soul would love the stars. As beautiful as they are, they will burn you. Regardless of your best intentions.

i can’t always tell what’s betterlong drivesin the star-spangled desertsor long walksalong winding tea gardens.

...your soul can never be long going to the fixed stars, where I intend to settle; or else you may find me in the milky way.

Never say never, for if you live long enough, chances are you will not be able to abide by the simplest of such injunctions.

Springtime blooms the starry treeBearing fruit the mariners see.High by night and low by dawnThe silver apple guides us home.

Each person is a vast territory of undiscovered mystery as nebulous and uncharted as the deepest oceans and expanses of space.

I love him in ways that I can’t explain to other people. They don’t understand… it’s not their fault.

A girl in a crown of stars was coming toward him, but before she could see who he was he slipped through his curtains of flesh.

Stars, everywhere. So many stars that I could not for the life meunderstand how the sky could contain them all yet be so black.

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

...freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night...

My God, what a sensation to be an atom in the scheme of such grandiosity. The allurement, the jazz, and the physics of it all . . .

I kept waiting for the part where I’d finally know who I was — some flashing, neon moment of relief, but it never came.

My legs are so skinny they’re like arms on a clock. And the stars are like 1-12, if you subtract infinity from the sky first.

I do think that poetry is important though, if you don’t strive at it, if you don’t fill it full of stars and falseness.