There is always some limit which the individual accepts. He identifies this limit with himself. Horror seizes him at the thought that this limit may cease to be. But we are wrong to take this limit and the individual’s acceptance of it seriously. The limit is only there to be overreached. Fear and horror are… Continue reading Georges Bataille
I swim in you, you in me until we drift down, slowly settling in anemone of pillowed hair, entangled leg and arm, beneath our tongues a dream of fruit, tide of sunlight inching over the dark planetary coast. — Roger Pfingston, from “Occasion,” Intimate Kisses: The Poetry of Sexual Pleasure, ed. Wendy Maltz (New World… Continue reading Roger Pfingston
I desire her and I hate her. I would like to take her in my arms and embrace her till she smothered, till she was crushed and I could drink death from her gushing veins. — Octave Mirbeau, The Torture Garden. (Olympia Press; Revised Edition edition, August 28, 2005) Originally published 1899.
No lover, if he be of good faith, and sincere, will deny he would prefer to see his mistress dead than unfaithful. — Donatien Alphonse François / Marquis de Sade
Love is not a state, a feeling, a disposition, but an exchange, uneven, fraught with history, with ghosts, with longings that are more or less legible to those who try to see one another with their own faulty vision. — Judith Butlera
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