“Cuando estoy solo, no soy yo quien está aquí, y no es de ti que estoy lejos, ni de los otros, ni del mundo. No soy el sujeto de ese sentimiento de soledad, de esa sensación de sus propios límites, de ese hastío de ser uno mismo. Cuando estoy solo, no estoy”.
“Cuando estoy solo, no [...]
“pues estamos hechos de líneas. Y no nos referimos únicamente a líneas de escritura, las líneas de escritura se conjugan con otras líneas, líneas de vida, líneas de suerte o de mala suerte, líneas que crean la variación de la propia línea de escritura, líneas que están entre las líneas escritas.”
D&G. Mil Mesetas.
“She was perfectly aware that her imaginative life was the life in which she spent most of her time; and she would have been ready, had it been at all worth while, to contend that, since her outward occupation didn’t kill it, it must be strong indeed. Combinations of flowers and greenstuff forsooth! What SHE could handle freely, she said to herself, was combinations of men and women. The only weakness in her faculty came from the positive abundance of her contact with the human herd; this was so constant, it had so the effect of cheapening her privilege, that there were long stretches in which inspiration, divination and interest quite dropped. The great thing was the flashes, the quick revivals, absolute accidents all, and neither to be counted on nor to be resisted. Some one had only sometimes to put in a penny for a stamp and the whole thing was upon her.”
In the cage. Henry James
sonida: break my body, Hanne Hukkelberg.