The Light Is Nervous And Quiet -

We live by the waters breaking out of the heart.

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water

Violence was all. The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went.

- Virginia Woolf, Orlando

what I have done is risked everything for that hour, that hour in the black night, where one flashing light looks like love,

Ada Limón, Glow

but you, in this wilderness alone You've got to live to take the next bite

Dagna Ślepowrońska, tr. Regina Grol

The room will explode when I sit at the side of your bed and you talk to me. I don't hear your words: your voice reverberates against my body like another kind of caress

Anaïs Nin, Henry and June

For why is it meaningless to write with no other function than to assuage fear? Doesn’t that function in itself have a meaning? And why fear the dismantling of language’s semantic function, its being representational of meaning, when that is but one more fear that will drive those in opposition to écriture to write?

Mary Ruefle, On Fear

burn like a meteor and leave no dust.

- Virginia Woolf, Orlando

The light is astounding, a hammer.

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water

It is all an illusion (which is nothing against it, for illusions are the most valuable and nessecary of all things, and she who can create one is among the world’s greatest benefactors),

- Virginia Woolf, Orlando

What sense is there in pain at all - however we contrive it for ourselves as we cast about for ways to bind up the wound between us and God?

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water