The sexiest thing in the entire world is being really smart; and being thoughtful and being generous. Everything else is crap. I promise you. It’s just crap that people try to sell to you to make you feel less. So don’t buy it.
Yes, we still rave about Plato and Kant and teach everyone their very incorrect ideas, but if you mess up, you fail? Of course not. It is much better to be creative, intelligent, surprising, and wrong than it is to be right and dull and obvious and safe. I always opt to be the interesting person, even if I fall on my face.
Trouble began, perhaps, as soon as they said they loved each other. Why did they do that — defining, inflating, obscuring whatever it was they did feel? It seemed to be demanded, that was all — just the way changes, variations, elaborations in the lovemaking itself might be demanded. It was a way of going further. So they said it, and that night Georgia couldn’t sleep. She did not regret what had been said or think it was a lie, though she knew it was absurd. She thought of the way Miles sought to have her look into his eyes during lovemaking — something Ben expressly did not do — and she thought of how his eyes, at first bright and challenging, became cloudy and calm and sombre. That way she trusted him — it was the only way. She thought of being launched out on a gray, deep, baleful, magnificent sea. Love.
“You need to write something for the priest to say.”
She knows I should write it. And it sounds so easy
Because I write so much. But what she’s saying is
“Write the most beautiful thing you’ve ever written.
Try and capture a single moment of all I mean to you
With nothing but the noise your pen makes.”
And she knows how much inside myself I am
And she pulls me out.
And how do I explain to everyone how many little things like that