But to be young was very heaven, Viviane Sassen (Self Portraits 1989-1999)

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But to be young was very heaven, Viviane Sassen (Self Portraits 1989-1999)
“You’ve been hanging around here trying to make yourself invisible behind this fragile little fuck-up routine but you can’t. You’re anything but invisible. You’re big.”
Birdman (2014) dir. Alejandro González Iñárritu
Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Lytton Strachey (September 1925)
Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own [originally published 1929]
Contano due principi: non farsi mai troppe illusioni e non smettere di credere che ogni cosa che fai potrà servire
(Italo Calvino)
Warsan Shire, from “Midnight in the Foreign Food Aisle”, Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head
Mi tormentava, allora, anche un’altra circostanza: il fatto che nessuno mi somigliava e io non somigliavo a nessuno. “Io sono solo, e loro sono tutti”, pensavo, e mi mettevo a riflettere.
(F. M. Dostoevskij, Memorie del sottosuolo)
Un giorno mi perdonerò. Del male che mi sono fatta. Del male che mi sono fatta fare. E mi stringerò così forte, da non lasciarmi più.
(Emily Dickinson)
“Dear friend, — Your sweetness intimidates” Emily Dickinson, from a letter to Sarah Tuckerman (January 1880)
Jorge Luis Borges, Labyrinths: Selected Stories & Other Writings
Catherine Gildiner, Good Morning, Monster: Five Heroic Journeys to Emotional Recovery
Clarice Lispector, Naples, Italy, [1945].
Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.
Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía.
Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
Déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.
Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silenzio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.
Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.
E.E. Cummings, Complete Poems, 1904-1962
“Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it, or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.”
— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath