...the awful complexities that make love twisted bloody and criminal...
Hélène Cixous, Stigmata: Escaping Texts; from ‘Stigmata, or Job the Dog', tr. Eric Prenowitz
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@afigurelikeadoll
...the awful complexities that make love twisted bloody and criminal...
Hélène Cixous, Stigmata: Escaping Texts; from ‘Stigmata, or Job the Dog', tr. Eric Prenowitz
elizabeth s.
Albert Camus, from a letter to María Casares featured in Correspondance, 1944-1959
Grief is really just love. It's all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go
— Jamie Anderson
Virginia Woolf, in a diary entry dated 18 May 1934, from A Writer's Diary: 1918-1941
Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Margaret Llewyn Davis, featured in The Selected Letters of Virginia Woolf
Edgar Allan Poe, from a letter featured in The Complete Poetry & Tales of Edgar Allan Poe
Most people live their lives laying prostrate before a false god, waiting for a cue to rise. There are no cues, only decisions. Shall I have dessert? Shall I have the best of the wine? Shall I love the person next to me?
-- Lawren Leo
(Vatican)
Emily Dickinson, from a letter to Susan Huntington featured in "Open Me Carefully: Emily Dickinson’s Intimate Letters to Susan Huntington Dickinson,"
There is certainly a red for everyone.
-- Christian Dior