Maybe love is like rain. Sometimes gentle, sometimes torrential, flooding, eroding, joyful, steady, filling the earth, collecting in underground springs. When it rains, when we love, life grows. — Carol Gilligan, The Birth of Pleasure. (Knopf; 1 edition May 7, 2002)
Don’t wait for inspiration. Remember. Do not wait for inspiration. You don’t need to be inspired, to write a poem. You need to reach down and touch the thing that’s boiling inside of you and make it somehow useful. –Audre Lorde, A Litany for Survival: The Life and Work of Audre Lorde (1995) Directed by… Continue reading Audre Lorde
Love loves to return, to bring back to the origin, to begin loving from the first instant, love wants to love everything, — Hélène Cixous, from “Poetry, Passion and History,” Rootprints: Memory and Life Writing. (1st edition, June 27, 1997)
When I saw him look at me with lust, I dropped my eyes but, in glancing away from him, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. And I saw myself, suddenly, as he saw me… And, for the first time in my innocent and confined life, I sensed in myself a potentiality for corruption… Continue reading Angela Carter
Let us record the atoms as they fall upon the mind in the order in which they fall, let us trace the pattern, however disconnected and incoherent in appearance, which each sight or incident scores upon the consciousness. Let us not take it for granted that life exists more fully in what is commonly thought… Continue reading Virginia Woolf
If there were a poetry where this could happen not as blank spaces or as words stretched like skin over meanings but as silence falls at the end of a night through which two people have talked till dawn — Adrienne Rich, from “Cartographies of Silence,” The Dream of a Common Language, Poems 1974-1977 (W.… Continue reading Adrienne Rich
… in such darkness I can only write, keep on going forward, till the end. I am now in the dark part of truth. — Hélène Cixous, from “Respiration de la hache (Hiss of the axe),” trans. Keith Cohen, Stigmata: Escaping Texts (Routledge, 2005)
i am afraid that if i open myself i will not stop pouring. (why do i fear becoming a river. what mountain gave me such shame.) — Jamie Oliveira, “Erosion,” In Passing. (CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform May 9, 2015)
There is within me a thing that is aching, aching, aching always as the days pass. — Mary MacLane, I Await The Devil’s Coming. (Melville House; Reprint edition, March 19, 2013) Originally published April 26th 1902.
I am the sun and moon and forever hungry the sharpened edge where day and night shall meet and not be one. — Audre Lorde, from “From the House of Yemanjá,” The Black Unicorn: Poems. (W. W. Norton & Company; Reissue edition, August 17, 1995) Originally published 1978.