Remains Of Colour On Temple Columns.

I look at you as if I were looking for the first time.

Adriana Szymańska, Ode to a Man tr. Regina Grol

Thought and life are as the poles asunder.

- Virginia Woolf, Orlando

“Tell me what you know about the body, and I will tell you how it must turn against itself.”

— Seam: ‘Interview with a Birangona’ by Tarfia Faizullah

For why is it meaningless to write with no other function than to assuage fear? Doesn’t that function in itself have a meaning? And why fear the dismantling of language’s semantic function, its being representational of meaning, when that is but one more fear that will drive those in opposition to écriture to write?

Mary Ruefle, On Fear

Everything, in fact, was something else.

- Virginia Woolf, Orlando

and in a windowless attic some of me is in the smoke rising from the chimney

Anna Frajlich, Here I Am tr. Regina Grol

I was only time flowing through myself.

Annie Ernaux, Simple Passion

Instead of making cathedrals out of Christ, man, or 'life,' we are making it out of ourselves

Barnett Newman, The Sublime is Now 

Fifty Days at Iliam: The Fire The Consumes All Before It

Cy Twombly, 1978

Oil, oil crayon, and graphite on canvas

Photo taken from the Philadelphia Museum of Art

I pray as if you existed.

Maria Bigoszewska, tr Regina Grol