“the refugees leave a refuge, enter a refuge run to the windows, what they see makes them move on, they move, refuge… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“This book is my obliging you. This is a book I never would have dared write, if I did not feel protected… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“My book was powerless. The hall was so narrow. I could not run away from you. If I stayed there facing you,… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“The author of what I describe is not myself, it is the Other. First of all it is you, it is the… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“for a week she has been tormented, she burns to write something, gentle warmth emanates from her whole body, but still nothing… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“It is because of this sea between us. The earth has never, up to now, separated us. But, ever since yesterday, there… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
The only book that is worth writing is the one we don’t have the courage or strength to write. The book that… — Helene Cixous Copy Share Image
“I would touch its walls with my fingers and its ceilings with my looks, I would invoke the powers of writing, I… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“perhaps within me the desire to put off that which I most in the world desire of late keeps watch, I mean,… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“Reading is not as insignificant as we claim. First we must steal the key to the library. Reading is a provocation, a… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“(Because Jonah’s real story is the one never told: never was he as stupendously happy as during those three days and three nights of… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“I, too, overflow; my desires have invented new desires, my body knows unheard-of songs. Time and again I, too, have felt so full of… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
What happens: events interiors, snatch them from the cradle, from the source. I want to watch watching arrive. I want to watch arrivances. I… — Helene Cixous Copy Share Image
“And I? I drink, I burn, I gather dreams. And sometimes I tell a story. Because Promethea asks me for a bowl of words… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“The author of what I describe is not myself, it is the Other. First of all it is you, it is the woman, it… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
Perhaps what I do not manage to operate rapidly enough is the passage between the outside and the inside. — Helene Cixous Copy Share Image
“To fly/steal is woman’s gesture, to steal into language to make it fly.” — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“Those I love go in the direction of what they call the last hour—what Clarice Lispector calls, “the hour of the star,” “the hour… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“...and this morning I am without fire, my marrow is ash, I am very sad.” — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“Writing, in its noblest function, is the attempt to unerase, to unearth, to find the primitive picture again, ours, the one that frightens us.” — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“Here I am now. And it is hell. Paradise? Yes, I still am here, but who? only myself, with my small waist, my small… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
