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
And when she’s alone again, as truly alone in the world as she’s always felt herself to be, she looks at herself in a bamboo-framed mirror. Beautiful face, aglow with the taste of carnal pleasure, disdainful and avid … and above all an indefinable look in which can be sensed unspecified danger, sensuality triumphant and… Continue reading Louis Aragon
When life descends into the pit I must become my own candle willingly burning myself to light up the darkness around me. — Alice Walker, By the Light of my Father’s Smile. (Random House; 1st edition September 14, 1998)
I equate love (bodies touching indecently) to the limitlessness of being – to nausea, to the sun, and to death. —Georges Bataille, from “La Scissiparié,” Oeuvres Completes III. (Editions Flammarion July 27, 1984) Originally published in Les Cahiers de la Pléiade, Spring 1949.