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Clarice Lispector

I see that I’ve never told you how I listen to music—I gently rest my hand on the record player and my hand vibrates, sending waves through my whole body: and so I listen to the electricity of the vibrations, the last substratum of reality’s realm, and the world trembles inside my hands. Clarice Lispector,… Continue reading Clarice Lispector

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Brazilian Culture · Brazillian Literature · Classic · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fiction · Novel · Passage · Writing

Clarice Lispector

In order to write I must place myself into the void. In this void is where I exist intuitively. But it’s a terribly dangerous void: it’s where I wring out blood. I’m a writer who fears the snares of words: the words I say hide others—which? maybe I’ll say them. Writing is a stone cast… Continue reading Clarice Lispector

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