An unchangeable colour rules over the melancholic: his dwelling is a space the colour of mourning. Nothing happens in it. No one intrudes. It is a bare stage where the inert I is assisted by the I suffering from that… — Alejandra Pizarnik Copy Share Image
You've built your homeyou've fledged your birdsyou've beaten the windwith your bonesyou've finished alonewhat no one began — Alejandra Pizarnik Copy Share Image
“Melancholia is, I believe, a musical problem: a dissonance, a change in rhythm. While on the outside everything happens with the vertiginous rhythm of… — Alejandra Pizarnik Copy Share Image
“she undresses in the paradise of her memory she is unaware of the fierce fate of her visions she fears not knowing how to… — Alejandra Pizarnik Copy Share Image
“your voice in this being unable to move away from my gaze things dispossess me make of me a ship on a river of… — Alejandra Pizarnik Copy Share Image
Because no one has more thirst for earth, for blood, and for ferocious sexuality than the creatures who inhabit cold mirrors — Alejandra Pizarnik Copy Share Image
“Paths of the mirror" I And above all else, to look with innocence. As if nothing was happening, which is true. II But you,… — Alejandra Pizarnik Copy Share Image
“me he empavorecido, me he engrisado, me he atardecido, mi lengua no sabe.” — Alejandra Pizarnik Copy Share Image
“Everything makes love with silence. They promised me a silence like fire, a house of silence. Suddenly the temple is a circus the light… — Alejandra Pizarnik Copy Share Image
But, who is Death? A figure that harrows and wastes wherever and however it pleases. This is also a possible description of the Countess… — Alejandra Pizarnik Copy Share Image
