We are talking. It's a shame. What is said is murdered. Our words that will not grow any bigger or any lovelier will wilt inside our bones. Words wither feelings. — Violette Leduc Copy Share Image
Often, we melt into our ecstasies as though they were jams, as though we were sinking into syrupy bowls of gooseberries, of raspberries, of… — Violette Leduc Copy Share Image
I was and I always shall be hampered by what I think other people will say. — Violette Leduc Copy Share Image
At the age of five, of six, at the age of seven, I used to begin weeping sometimes without warning, simply for the sake… — Violette Leduc Copy Share Image
“It’s incredible,” she sighed. My eyebrows brushed Isabelle’s eyebrows. “It’s incredible the way I’m seeing you,” — Violette Leduc Copy Share Image
“It is not only streams and rivers that flow: a street, with a door set back from it, can slide over into the depth… — Violette Leduc Copy Share Image
I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is… — Violette Leduc Copy Share Image
“Drink, my angel; everything I have inside me is yours, soak it up through the paper, through the sleeve of my coat. Suck my… — Violette Leduc Copy Share Image
