#cixous

[thirdity]

Under the gaze of Clarice Lispector, every event hatches; the ordinary opens up and shows its treasure, which is, precisely, ordinary. And suddenly like a storm — of wind, of gunfire, of teeth: life arrives.

Hélène Cixous, "Coming to Writing" and Other Essays

[mademoisellemort]

from Hélène Cixous' "Love of the Wolf"

[gnossienne]

Hélène Cixous, Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing (1993)

[proustiansleep]

"He's the one who began by spilling the beans, I say. He will say that it's not the one who begins who will have been the first to begin. He is more afraid and less afraid of the invaders than I am. He has always shown great kindness to my dreams. He could have preferred to chase them away or hunt them down. But he is gentle with wild species, with poets and beasts—at least with most of them most of the time." —Hélène Cixous, Insister of Jacques Derrida

[savagedream]

I want to see her. I won't tell a soul, not even my beloved, not even myself, the vague intentional silhouette I believe I glimpse grazing the walls of my inner cinema. All is shadow —

- Hélène Cixous, Hyperdream

[m0thb1tch]

What I am giving you is nothing that belongs to me, Promethea. It is just yourself, you running through me throwing off sparks, your eyes blazing with fear, blazing with hope, I am giving you your own fire. All I do is breathe very gently on your night embers and handfuls of stars fly out.

- Hélène Cixous, "The Book of Promethea"

[loneberry]

“...at the end of the book, she had learned a secret from it: which is that ‘having’ paradise isn’t impossible; because ‘being in paradise’ doesn’t mean having your residence there; it means knowing that you can return there. ... It’s a state of joy which prolongs itself throughout the whole life of those people who have the strength to be wild...

Very near and very hard to approach in reality. Because it’s not paradise that one loses; it’s the desire to be there, which war succeeds in making us forget. For the state of being-in-paradise, which seems so simple when one is there, this state requires the first great intelligence, the kind that thinks and understands on the other side of forgetfulness and of things neglected by thought, before any absent-mindedness; requires the ultrasensitive intelligence of proximities; capable of discovering the treasures of life lying in store under the window, within our reach, within our embrace; requires the first, the prime intelligence, the universal, the very-fragile kind, with its very broad, feathery antennae covered with sensory cells which enable it to detect the sources of the very great joys that are quivering in the immediate invisibility.”

—Hélène Cixous, Lemonade Everything Was So Infinite

[weavingviolets]

edvard munch, girl with a heart | hélène cixous, love of the wolf | dante alighieri, vita nuova | edvard munch, vampire