“I see nothing. I do not move. It is an empty time, animal time, vigilant, I am submerged, under the earth and… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
Decisive moment: the one when you will be really alone. And it is perhaps this that makes her hesitate: not the void,… — Helene Cixous Copy Share Image
“Every woman has known the torment of getting up to speak. Her heart racing, at times entirely lost for words, ground and… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“When a sin comes back (its memory) you absolutely must bury it. How to bury the memory of a sin that comes… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“Time and again I, too, have felt so full of luminous torrents that I could burst - burst with forms much more… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“What I'd saved: lost. Worse: I lost it. Can't even tell myself that I sort of lost it that lost I keep… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“And so when you have lost everything, no more roads, no direction, no fixed signs, no ground, no thoughts able to resist… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“ Voice-cry. Agony--the spoken “word” exploded, blown to bits by suffering and anger, demolishing discourse: this is how she has always been… — 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
“(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
