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I wish I wasn’t a girl who needed so much but a little free creature that slept in deserts and ran on clouds and lived on lilies.

Francesca Lia Block

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Francesca Lia Block
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: January 3
Editor
Novelist
Poet
Writer
LA
California
Wish
Creature
Girl
Desert
Littles
Clouds
Little
Creatures
Much
Lived
Deserts
Life
Needed
Lilies
Wasn
Slept
Free
Ran

More quotes by Francesca Lia Block

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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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I'll be inside the one who holds you. And then I won't be.
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...It felt like they were telling each other secrets. Everything they said felt like that—whispered, tender, full of other meanings, like when you tell someone a dream or talk about your astrological signs as code for all the things you love about each other.
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Choose to believe in your own myth your own glamour your own spell a young woman who does this (even if she is just pretending) has everything.
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I believe we recover from loss by facing the loss, grieving, going deep inside ourselves (hopefully with a guide) and re-emerging to live and love again.
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She began to feel like the plastic doll she had been named after, without even a hole where her mouth was supposed to be.
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Pianos, unlike people, sing when you give them your every growl. They know how to dive into the pit of your stomach and harmonize with your roars when you’ve split yourself open. And when they see you, guts shining, brain pulsing, heart right there exposed in a rhythm that beats need need, need need, need need, pianos do not run. And so she plays.
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Sometimes I wanted to peel away all of my skin and find a different me underneath.
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At least the girls in stories were alive before they died.
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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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It's important to tell your story. It's important to listen.
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Love is a dangerous angel.
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I will not eat cakes or cookies or food. I will be thin, thin, pure. I will be pure and empty. Weight dropping off. Ninety-nine... ninety-five... ninety-two... ninety. Just one more to eighty-nine. Where does it go? Where in the universe does it go?
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I didn't tell him that what I was most scared of, most haunted by, was something I didn't understand and could never run away from. It was myself.
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You are so intense. Like a storm. It's shocking how intense you are.
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She had changed him. The ice was in his eyes and in his heart, like he had predicted with that song, but now they were deep embedded there, all the pain of the world. Not pain to make you feel for somebody else but pain to make you stop feeling.
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I want him to see the flowers in my eyes and hear the songs in my hands.
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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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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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I think depression creates in me an urgent need to write, but I also believe that daily stress, and even the positive stress of intense happiness, can compel me to express myself through the written word.
Francesca Lia Block