In your loneliness, you hear the word from far away and then, in gratitude, look at it so closely that you cannot but drown in it. — Edmond Jabès, The Book of Questions: Volume II [Yaël; Elya; Aely; El, Or the Last Book] (Wesleyan; Revised ed. Edition, September 15, 1991) Originally published January 1st 1967.
In summer evenings blue, pricked by the wheat On rustic paths the thin grass I shall tread, And feel its freshness underneath my feet, And, dreaming, let the wind bathe my bare head, I shall not speak, nor think, but, walking slow Through Nature, I shall rove with Love my guide, As gipsies wander, where,… Continue reading Arthur Rimbaud
The inner ache signifies no more than nostalgia for the present because all we lack is our presence. — Robert Marteau, from Eidolon, transl. by Barry Callaghan (Exile Editions, 1990)
Your life was a hypothesis. Those who die old are made of the past. Thinking of them, one thinks of what they have done. Thinking of you, one thinks of what you could have become. You were, and you will remain, made up of possibilities. ― Édouard Levé, Suicide. (P.O.L. (�DITIONS); POL edition, April 15,… Continue reading Édouard Levé
One word and all is saved One word and all is lost — André Breton, from “Unconscious,” Poems of André Breton: A Bilingual Anthology (University of Texas Press, 1982)
To be or not to be. That’s not really a question. ― Jean-Luc Godard
The past would delay the present’s unfolding if our eroded memories hadn’t slept there ceaselessly. — René Char, from “Pause at Cloaca Castle,” The Brittle Age and Returning Upland (Counterpath Press, 2009)
