“How the hell do you sum up your sister in three minutes? She's your twin and your polar opposite. She's your constant companion and your competition. She's your best friend and the biggest bitch in the world. She's everything you wish you could be and everything you wish you weren't.”
“I've never felt a connection like this with anyone else... I don't even know how to explain it. I feel like I already knew you before I met you, and the first time I saw you, the first time I talked to you, was incidental, because the connection was already there --.”
“None of us is delicate enough to touch anyone else without hurting them a little bit.”
“If you are here because you think writing will always be fun, you're in for a disappointment. Writing -- real writing -- is among the most difficult work you will ever face in your life. The irony is that the harder you work at it, the harder it gets.”
“If you're not scared when you are writing you're not working hard enough. You'll be afraid but you have to keep going.”
“It's your writing you guys. Follow it wherever it takes you. All you need to do is tell your truth.”
“The point of freewriting is to get past the voice inside your head that tells you your ideas aren't good enough, your words aren't good enough, you're no writer and so forth.”
“Nights with bright pivots, departure, matter, uniquely voice, uniquely naked each day. Upon your breasts of still current, upon your legs ofharshness and water, upon the permanence and pride of your naked hair, I want to lie, my love, the tears now cast into the raucous basket where they gather, I want to lie, my love, alone with a syllable of destroyed silver, alone with a tip of your snowy breast. It is not now possible, at times, to win except by falling, it is not now possible, between two people, to tremble, to touch the river’s flower: man fibers come like needles, transactions, fragments, families of repulsive coral, tempests and hard passages through carpets of winter. Between lips and lips there are cities of great ash and moist crest, drops of when and how, indefinite traffic: between lips and lips, as if along a coast of sand and glass, the wind passes. That is why you are endless, gather me up as if you were all solemnity, all nocturnal like a zone, until you merge with the lines of time. Advance in sweetness, come to my side until the digital leaves of the violins have become silent, until the moss takes root in the thunder, until from the throbbing of hand and hand the roots come down. VALS Yo toco el odio como pecho diurno, yo sin cesar, de ropa en ropa, vengo durmiendo lejos.”
“Oh my gosh, he smells good, like some exotic but comforting spice, nutmeg or cardamom. Slowly Damian lowers his head to mine and I think my chest might explode, my heart is tap-dancing so quickly.
He's going to kiss me.
I've imagined this and now it's really happening, I am like a block of wood. I can't move. I can't breathe. I close my eyes as the lightest feather of a breath , then lips, brushing over my lips. His breath is sweet and the taste of coffee barely lingers in his mouth. I feel as though my whole body has turned to liquid, into a river of millions of droplets, rushing apart and then back together.
"You have the softest lips," he whispers as he pulls back to look at me.
"So do you," I murmur. Oh, was that a stupid thing to say? I turn my face into his jacket and breathe in his scent.”
“Mi aspettavo che la solita ondata di ripugnanza per me stesso mi assalisse da un momento all'altro: tutta la mia libidine era spenta e non mi trastullavo mai con le puttane dopo averle usate... capitava di rado che volessi rivederle di nuovo. Ma questa era diversa. Per la prima volta in vita mia, provavo tenerezza per una donna, per questa ragazza, qualcosa che non avevo provato neppure con Effie. Soprattutto non con Effie. Qualcosa dentro di me voleva assaggiarla, conoscerla: come se l'atto in sé che avevamo compiuto non fosse stato nulla... niente era stato rivelato, niente si era guastato. Mi resi conto con improvvisa, esilarante chiarezza che questo era il Mistero.
Questa ragazza, questa tenerezza.
[...]
Le toccai il collo, il braccio, la curva tesa della coscia.
"Marta..."
[...]
"Marta."
"Si?"
"Ti amo."
Nel buio, il suo bacio fu dolce.”
“Ray Bannister started to build the guillotine the day Jerry Renault returned to Monument.”
“Quiet. My body melted heavily into the chair; I heard a cart go up the street. The room grew suddenly big with meaning. Something was about to happen, was happening: each object in the room seemed perfect of its kind, its kind being just its one self. The moment split into Eternity and I went with it: I had neither skin nor bones, but flowed into the world, sacred along with everything else, and was lost.”
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