When you write, you should put your skin on the table. ― Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Journey to the End of the Night. (New Directions; Reprint edition, May 17, 2006) Originally published 1932.
Calm down, my Sorrow, we must move with care. / You called for evening; it descends, it’s here. — Charles Baudelaire, “Meditation,” trans, Robert Lowell, Poetry (September 1961)
Reading in no way obliges us to understand. — Jacques Lacan, On Feminine Sexuality, the Limits of Love and Knowledge: The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book XX: Encore. Translated by Bruce Fink (W. W. Norton & Company, November 17, 1999) Originally published 1981
A soul trembling to sit by a hearth so bright, To exist again, it’s enough if I borrow from Your lips the breath of my name you murmur all night. — Stéphane Mallarmé, from “Sonnet: Pour votre chère morte, son ami…” (For your dear departed wife, his friend) 2 November 1877. Selected Poems. Translated by… Continue reading Stéphane Mallarmé
Ah, the sun will catch me, in my disturbing transparency. What am I but an awareness of the dark, forever? — Edmond Jabès, The Book of Questions I. Translated by Rosmarie Waldrop. (Wesleyan; Rev. ed. Trans. from the French edition, September 15, 1991) Originally published 1963.
When she does not find love, she may find poetry.. ― Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex. (Vintage; Later Printing Used edition, December 17, 1989)
Don’t be afraid; I’ll keep looking at you for ever and ever, without a flutter of my eyelids, and you’ll live in my gaze like a mote in a sunbeam. — Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit. (Samuel French, Inc. 1958) Originally published 1944.