A thing may in itself be the finest piece of writing one has ever done, and yet have absolutely no place in the manuscript one hopes to publish. — Carolyn Forche Copy Share Image
A thing may in itself be the finest piece of writing one has ever done, and yet have absolutely no place in the manuscript… — Carolyn Forche Copy Share Image
Poetry is the voice of the soul, whispering, celebrating, singing, even. — Carolyn Forche Copy Share Image
The heart is the toughest part of the body. Tenderness is in the hands. — Carolyn Forche Copy Share Image
We are responsible for the quality of our vision, we have a say in the shaping of our sensibility. In the many thousand daily… — Carolyn Forche Copy Share Image
Blood Dazzler is Patricia Smith's impassioned lyric chronicle of a beloved city in peril, a city whose people were left to die before us… — Carolyn Forche Copy Share Image
If I just work when the spirit moves me, the spirit will ignore me. — Carolyn Forche Copy Share Image
“...the Roanoke valley where mountains hold the breath of the dead between them and lift from each morning a fresh bandage of mist.” — Carolyn Forché Copy Share Image
“He swept the ears to the floor with his arm and held the last of his wine in the air. Something for your poetry,… — Carolyn Forché Copy Share Image
“The memories are few and like dreams of her life resuming a muted sound of snow falling into itself.” — Carolyn Forché Copy Share Image
“In the night I come to you and it seems a shame to waste my deepest shudders on a wall of a man.” — Carolyn Forche Copy Share Image
There is a cyclone fence between ourselves and the slaughter and behind it we hover in a calm protected world like netted fish, exactly… — Carolyn Forche Copy Share Image
