Me too, I make do, I anoint what cannot be fixed.

I am sick of death and worst of all this sickness feeds on itself, the more afraid I am the more I am afraid the more I flee the more I am afraid the more I am haunted.

Writing is the passageway, the entrance, the exit, the dwelling place of the other in me.

Meditation needs no results. Meditation can have itself as an end, I meditate without words and on nothingness. What tangles my life is writing.

I am not innocent. Innocence is a science of the sublime. And I am only at the very beginning of the apprenticeship.

Explore the idea of what the language that women speak would really be like if no one were there to correct them.

Censor the body and you censor breath and speech at the same time. Write yourself. Your body must be heard.