She rises up out of a sea of faces and embraces me, embraces me passionately— a thousand eyes, noses, fingers, legs, bottles, windows, purses, saucers all glaring at us and we in each other’s arm oblivious. I sit down beside her and she talks— a flood of talk. Wild consumptive notes of hysteria, perversion, leprosy.… Continue reading Henry Miller
We are dancing in the hollow of nothingness. We are one flesh, but separated like stars. — Henry Miller
Night is longing, longing, longing, beyond all endurance. — Henry Miller, Sexus. (The Rosy Crucifixion #1). Grove Press January 12, 1994) Originally published 1949.
What I want is to open up. I want to know what’s inside me. I want everybody to open up. I’m like an imbecile with a can opener in his hand, wondering where to begin– to open up the earth. I know that underneath the mess everything is marvelous. I’m sure of it. — Henry… Continue reading Henry Miller
Words are loneliness. I left a couple of words for you on the tablecloth last night—you covered them with your elbows. ― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer (Grove Press, 1934)
Up on the Brooklyn Bridge a man is standing in agony, waiting to jump, or waiting to write a poem, or waiting for the blood to leave his vessels because if he advances another foot the pain of his love will kill him. ― Henry Miller, Black Spring. (Grove Press; Reissue edition February 11, 1994)… Continue reading Henry Miller
To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth—I count that something of a miracle. — Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer. (Grove Press January 6, 1994) Originally published 1934.