“Hell bent and beautiful, you're my heart.”
“What more can anyone take from me?" said my father, his head bent down. "Everywhere I go I carry my hell with me.”
“The old goes into making us what we are, or what we're hell-bent on not being.”
“Nobody reads poetry anymoreSo who the hell are youI see bent over this book?”
“Run my dear, From anything That may not strengthen Your precious budding wings. Run like hell my dear, From anyone likely To put a sharp knife Into the sacred, tender vision Of your beautiful heart.”
“After the death of my marriage, I was hell-bent on keeping the bird-of-paradise alive. I would take it slowly. Plants first. And if everything went well, then I'd move on to people.”