Michelle Brea:
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Michelle Brea:
Scaffolding of Sadness
Michelle Brea:
Quietly, Undramatically
Michelle Brea:
A Sense of Loss
Michelle Brea:
When the Flowers Were Singing
Michelle Brea:
These are the moments which are not calculable, and cannot be assessed in words; they live on in the solution of memory, like wonderful creatures, unique of their own kind, dredged up from the floors of some unexplored ocean.
Michelle Brea:
[Kids] don't remember what you try to teach them. They remember what you are.
Michelle Brea:
"Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, a jealous possessive love that grabs at what it can."
Michelle Brea:
You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense
Michelle Brea:
The Blue Nowhere
Michelle Brea:
Laughter is sunshine, it chases winter from the human face
Michelle Brea:
There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.
Michelle Brea:
Tous les jours de tristes histoires
Michelle Brea:
His whole future seemed suddenly to be unrolled before him; and passing down its endless emptiness he saw the dwindling figure of a man to whom nothing was ever to happen.
Michelle Brea:
"...behind the mask of ice that people wear, there beats a heart of fire."
Michelle Brea:
As I Fade
Michelle Brea:
A shade of Dark
Michelle Brea:
Whoever said being a reindeer was fun?
Michelle Brea:
But we danced, under wigs and between unfinished walls, through broken promises and around empty cupboards.
Michelle Brea:
Surfs' Up
Michelle Brea:
She wasn't bitter. She was sad, though. But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time.
Michelle Brea:
You cannot prevent the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent them from building nests in your hair
Michelle Brea:
"Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terror, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them."
Michelle Brea:
Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt...
Michelle Brea:
...A change fell upon all things. Strange brilliant flowers, star-shaped, burst out upon the trees where no flowers had been before. The tints of the green carpet deepened; and when, one by one, the white daisies shrank away...
Michelle Brea:
Everything with me is either worship and passion or pity and understanding. I hate rarely, though when I hate, I hate murderously.
