Andrea Gibson Quotes

"There was a typo in the book. The line read, "I want to merry you." I thought, "That's exactly what I want to do: merry somebody.

She's heard stories of Vietnam vets
who can still feel the tingling of their amputated limbs.
She's wondering how many women are walking around this world
feeling the tingling of their amputated wings,
remembering what it was to fly, to sing.

and I’m not the type to want to celebrate forever

when Right Now is forever walking down the aisle unnoticed.

Even on my worst days, my scars are the backroads where kids sneak out their windows and drive through the night to hear poetry.

But when we wake we can’t call up the dead and say,

“Sorry, we were looking the other way.

They're gonna keep telling you are a crime of nature
and you're gonna look at all your options, and choose conviction,
choose to carve your own heart out of a side of a cliff,
choose to spend your whole life telling secrets you owe no one till everyone, till there isn't anyone who can insult you by calling you what you are.

Almost always they answer god or booze. One I don’t tolerate. The other, I’m told, doesn’t tolerate me.

I hear almost every argument is a race for the victim spot.

This kind of love has to be verb.

My firefly heart is still right there
in your glass jar.
I never trusted anybody more
to poke enough holes in the lid.

We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways.

The closest I might ever come to war is the turning of my head. Apathy is intimate, like singing a lullaby to a grenade, then drinking yourself to sleep while it sneaks out the window to explode a boy.

And all they know of hate is that it couldn't beat the love out of me.

and maybe we’ll never be that new again.

Have you ever had the feeling you owe somebody somewhere

a really good reason to live?

To grow old?

To be ninety-eight-and-a-half

with a laugh like broken glass

so whenever folks walk barefoot

they’ll get hidden pieces embedded in their souls?

Have you ever had the feeling you owe somebody somewhere

a really good reason to live?

To grow old?

To be ninety-eight-and-a-half

with a laugh like broken glass

so whenever folks walk barefoot

they’ll get hidden pieces embedded in their souls?