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Maybe any love we ever have is an angel in whatever form.

Francesca Lia Block

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Francesca Lia Block
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: January 3
Editor
Novelist
Poet
Writer
LA
California
Love
Angel
Maybe
Whatever
Form
Ever

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You're meant to have whatever your heart desires. Whatever your heart wants that much is already a part of you.
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You have to make your own family, your own life.
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Ugster vinyl pumps, Partridge Family records, plastic daisy jewelry, old postcards. . . . It's a magpie Christmas market.
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Pulling heads off Barbies, sticking them on the TV antenna and ruining the reception. But thats how witch babies are.
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Love is the worst earthquake there is. Can crush you to the thickness of your bones. Love can be like cancer sometimes. Terminal. It can make you vomit. It can make you want to cut it out. It can take you over against your will.
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Sometimes I wanted to peel away all of my skin and find a different me underneath.
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Maybe her own tears were the poison that made her grow.
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i could see the veins through your skin like a map to inside you. how could skin be that thin? i was so afraid you might drop and break. i stopped breathing so you wouldn't.
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Once upon a time . . . What time are we upon and where do I belong?
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Our eyelashes brushed like they would weave together by themselves, turning us into one wild thing. I say, “I think I missed you before I met you even.
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He said, You're so tiny, like a doll, you look like you might break. I wanted him to break me. Part of me did.
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I saw my own blood and I thought, how could I live in a world where this exists- where love can become death?
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She pushed the gardener away and called for them. In her sleep she had seen love. It was poisoning. It was possessing. Devouring. Or it was seven pairs of boots climbing up the stairs to find her.
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You are so intense. Like a storm. It's shocking how intense you are.
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But be careful sand is already broken but glass breaks. The shoes are for dancing, not running away.
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He said that black sheeps express everyone else's anger and pain. It's not that they have all the anger and pain-they're just the only ones who let it out. Then the other people don't have to.
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There’s nowhere to escape,” Dobey said, jamming his hands into his pockets and staring into the Valley. That’s not true, baby,” said Desiree. She took his hands and pulled him to her, wrapping her legs around his torso. She could feel the sobs in both of them, but quiet, silenced by the kiss. They could escape inside each other.
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Tinys do not deserve safety. If they are to prove themselves, they must suffer and die or suffer and survive.
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I love Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. I also love more cerebral poets like H.D. and Emily Dickinson. My parents subscribed to a monthly poetry periodical, and as a teenager I was introduced to Denise Levertov, who was an influence.
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Everything was fine, but Weetzie wanted a baby. “How could you want one?” My Secret Agent Lover Man said. “There are way too many babies. And diseases. And nuclear accidents. And crazy psychos. We cant have a baby,” he said.
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