Love is when you suddenly wake up as a cannibal, and not just any old cannibal, or else wake up destined for devourment.

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.

We must kill the false woman who is preventing the live one from breathing.

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

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.

It is said that life and death are under the power of language.

Women must write through their bodies, they must invent the impregnable language that will wreck partitions, classes, and rhetorics, regulations and codes, they must submerge, cut through, get beyond the ultimate reverse-discourse, including the one that laughs at the very idea of pronouncing the word "silence"...In one another we will never be lacking.