Le Corbeau (H.G. Clouzot, 1943)
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@what-she-read
Le Corbeau (H.G. Clouzot, 1943)

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“The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere, they’re in each other all along.”
— Rumi
Somber Reptiles

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I wanted to tell her that I was getting better, because that was supposed to be the narrative of illness: It was a hurdle you jumped over, or a battle you won. Illness is a story told in past tense.
Turtles All the Way Down, John Green

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Journey
Stanisław Szukalski
Sandra Cisneros, from My Wicked Wicked Ways: Poems; “Moon In Hydra,”
July 1, 1914, The Diaries Of Franz Kafka, 1914-1923
“I no longer understood. Had I shouted, no one would have heard, not even had I shouted my head off. I had nothing to say. I was still doomed to go astray. I kept laughing. I would have liked to spit in the other people’s faces.”
— Georges Bataille, Blue of Noon

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“You are a church of broken glass and hallelujahs. You are haunted like every other holy thing. What tried to destroy you didn’t have the strength. Still you stand. Sturdy and smelling of smoke.”
— Little Bird, Clementine von Radics