ها أنا أطفو من جديد . كل الحقائق ، كل الكلمات ، كل الصور ، وكل التنبؤات تحوم فوقي وتضلل بعضها
Sons perdidos à procura de perdidas cores. corto o ar e nado através de quartos sem paredes
You must not fear or hold back, count or be a miser with your thoughts and your feelings. It is also true that creation comes from an overflow, so you have to learn to intake, to imbibe, to receive, t...
You make me think of Casanova, except that in between the erotic, Casanova was boring, while you, in between eroticism and even because of it, you get profound.
Women always think that when they have my shoes, my dress my hairdresser, my make-up, it will work the same way. They do not conceive of the witchcraft that is needed. They do not know that I am not b...
When we walked together through the streets, bodies close together, arm in arm, hands locked, I could not talk. We were walking over the world, over reality, into ecstasy. When she smelled my handkerc...
What can you give when there is no self, when you have no sensitivity, no receptivity, no warmth, nothing to contact others with?
The words we did not shout, the tears unshed, the curse we swallowed,the phrase we shortened, the love we killed, turned into magnetic iron ore,into tourmaline, into pyrite agate, blood congealed into...
The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It ap...
The other night we talked about literature's elimination of the unessential, so that we are given a concentrated dose of life. I said, almost indignantly, That's the danger of it, it prepares you to l...
The humiliations and defeats,given with a primitive honesty,end not in frustration, despair or futility,
That last afternoon in Henry's hotel room was for me like a white-hot furnace. Before, I had only white heat of the mind and of the imagination; now it is of the blood. Sacred completeness. I come out...
Since desire always goes towards that which is our direct opposite, it forces us to love that which will make us suffer.
Pleasure is an attitude, not a person or place. —Diary 6, pg. 52
One does not learn to suffer less but to dodge pain.
I sleep with my feet on moss carpets, my branches in the cotton of the clouds.
I awoke at dawn, thrown up on a rock, the skeleton of a ship choked in its own sails.
A big enough artist, I say, can eat anything, must eat everything and then alchemize it. Only the feeble writer is afraid of expansion.
What I cannot love I overlook.
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.