“If I love you more, will you suffer less?”

We see movies in which people are represented as being in love who never talk with one another, who fall into bed without ever discussing their bodies, their sexual needs, their likes and dislikes. Indeed, the message received from the mass media is that knowledge makes love less compelling; that it is ignorance that gives love its erotic and transgressive edge. These messages are often brought to us by profiteering producers who have no clue about the art of loving, who substitute their mystified visions because they do not really know how to genuinely portray loving interaction… 

“HADES : Each one of my ribs —I will open each one of my ribs with fingertips, break each one of my ribs, and allow you to dive your hands into my chest so you can feel the beating of my heart. I will show you that life isn’t always warm, isn’t always veiled in dusk and emerald. PERSEPHONE : And I will spit between your ribs and you will survive on my contempt.”

“We are struggling to act as if we were alive.”

“Exiles look at non-exiles in resentment. They belong in their surroundings, you feel, whereas an exile is always out of place. What is it like to be born in a place, to stay and live there, to know that you are of it, more or less forever?”

“No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatsoever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”

“You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open.”

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”

I imagine myself covered with blood, broken but transfigured and in agreement with the world, both as prey and as a jaw of time, which ceaselessly kills and is ceaselessly killed.

I don’t want your love unless you know I am repulsive, and love me even as you know it.

Poetry leads to the same place as all forms of eroticism – to the blending and fusion of separate objects. It leads us to eternity, it leads us to death, and through death to continuity. Poetry is eternity; the sun matched with the sea.

Do you know what love is? I’ll tell you: it is whatever you can still betray.

My heart is black ink my sex is a dead sun.

Traveling is like flirting with life. It’s like saying, ‘I would stay and love you, but I have to go.’

ليس الزهد أن لا تملك الشيء وإنما الزهد أن لا يملكك الشيء Detachment is not that you should own nothing, but that nothing should own you.

- You don’t write anymore? - There hasn’t been anything I’ve wanted to say. - After all you’ve seen, after all you’ve been through, darling? - I’ve lost the knack of making sense.

And you have fixed my life – however short. You did not light me: I was always a mad comet; but you have fixed me.