There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb-it-doesn’t-eat.

Wouldn't the worst be, isn't the worst, in truth, that women aren't castrated, that they have only to stop listening to the Sirens (for the Sirens were men) for history to change its meaning? You only have to look at the Medusa straight on to see her. And she's not deadly. She's beautiful and she's laughing.

Perhaps what I do not manage to operate rapidly enough is the passage between the outside and the inside.

We must learn to speak the language women speak when there is no one there to correct us.

Thinking is trying to think the unthinkable: thinking the thinkable is not worth the effort.

What happens: events interiors, snatch them from the cradle, from the source. I want to watch watching arrive. I want to watch arrivances. I want to find the root of needing to eat. And taste it: work of sweat / sleep.

Only when you are lost can love find itself in you without losing its way.