William de Brailes—Noah’s Flood. 1250 (h/t Rabih Alameddine)

 

Ought not these oldest sufferings of ours to be yielding more fruit by now? Is it not time that, in loving, we freed ourselves from the loved one, and, quivering, endured: as the arrow endures the string, to become, in the gathering out-leap, something more than itself?
For staying is nowhere.

—Rilke

 

                                                                                You can love a man

 

           more than he’ll ever love back or be able to, you can confuse

 

           your understanding of that

 

                                                                   with a thing like acceptance or,

 

          worse, all you’ve ever deserved.

 

—Carl Phillips