But you are the cure
You suppose that you are the lock on the door
But you are the key that opens it
It’s too bad that you want to be someone else
You don’t see your own face, your own beauty
Yet, no face is more beautiful than yours.
What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don’t know and I’m afraid. I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. ”
- Sylvia Plath
“ Last night when we talked he swore that he desired no one but me. I am in love with him, too, and so we let the issue lie in the background. Yet the menace of those wayward instincts is there, inside of our very love. ”
Anais Nin, Henry and June [p.4]
“ Compose. (No ideas.
but in things) Invent!
Saxifrage is my flower that splits
the rocks. ”
from ’A Sort of Song’, by William Carlos Williams