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

When I write, it's everything that we don't know we can be that is written out of me, without exclusions, without stipulation, and everything we will be calls us to the unflagging, intoxicating, unappeasable search for love. In one another we will never be lacking.

If my desire is possible, it means the system is already letting something else through.

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.

Decisive moment: the one when you will be really alone. And it is perhaps this that makes her hesitate: not the void, but the vastness of the solitude. It's as well if you are frightened of solitude. It's a sign that you have come to the moment of your birth.

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

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