I like people who dream or talk to themselves interminably; I like them, for they are double. They are here and elsewhere. — Albert Camus, The Fall. (Vintage Books May 7, 1991) Originally published 1956. Advertisements
Winter is for women — The woman, still at her knitting, At the cradle of Spanish walnut, Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think. Will the hive survive, will the gladiolas Succeed in banking their fires To enter another year? What will they taste of, the Christmas roses? The bees… Continue reading Sylvia Plath
Memory is the space in which a thing happens for a second time. — Paul Auster, The Invention of Solitude (Faber and Faber, 2005)
Others because you did not keep That deep-sworn vow have been friends of mine; Yet always when I look death in the face, When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, Suddenly I meet your face. — W. B. Yeats, from “A Deep Sworn Vow,” The Wild Swans… Continue reading W. B. Yeats
Your voice reverberated against my body like another kind of caress, another kind of penetration. — Anaïs Nin, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953. (Mariner Books; 1 edition (pril 22, 1989) Originally published 1965.
Keeping Things Whole In a field I am the absence of field. This is always the case. Wherever I am I am what is missing. When I walk I part the air and always the air moves in to fill the spaces where my body’s been. We all have reasons for moving. I move… Continue reading Mark Strand
Where did love begin? What human being looked at another and saw in their face the forests and the sea? Was there a day, exhausted and weary, dragging home food, arms cut and scarred, that you saw yellow flowers and, not knowing what you did, picked them because I love you? — Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping.… Continue reading Jeanette Winterson