There are days when solitude is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom, others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a poison that makes you beat your head against the wall. ― Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, Oeuvres complètes en seize volumes. (Flammarion November 19, 1992) Originally published April 18th 1974.
The years I have squandered in puerile excitement, in going hither and thither, in seeking to force nature and time, I ought to have spent in solitude and meditation, in endeavoring to make myself worthy of being loved. ― Théophile Gautier, Mademoiselle de Maupin. (Penguin Books July 25th 2006) Originally published 1835)
You had carved the infallible signsOf my enchantmentWith a dagger whose coral handle forks into infinitySo that your blood and mineWould become one — André Breton, from “It Was Going on Five in the Morning,” Andre Breton: Selections. (University of California Press; 1st edition October 1, 2003)
I know,I know and you know, we knew,we did not know, wewere there, after all, and not thereand at times whenonly the void stood between us we gotall the way to each other — Paul Celan , from “Soviel Gestirne” (So Many Constellations), Selected Poems and Prose of Paul Celan. (W. W. Norton & Company;… Continue reading Paul Celan
Whatever may have been said of the satiety of pleasure and of the disgust which usually follows passion, any man who has anything of a heart and who is not wretchedly and hopelessly blasé feels his love increased by his happiness, and very often the best way to retain a lover ready to leave is… Continue reading Théophile Gautier
Marius and Cosette were in the dark in regard to each other. They did not speak, they did not bow, they were not acquainted; they saw each other; and, like the stars in the sky separated by millions of leagues, they lived by gazing upon each other. ― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables. (A. Lacroix, Verboeckhoven… Continue reading Victor Hugo
It is very hard to live with silence. The real silence is death and this is terrible. To approach this silence, it is necessary to journey to the desert. You do not go to the desert to find identity, but to lose it, to lose your personality, to be anonymous. You make yourself void. You… Continue reading Edmond Jabès