Writing is the passageway, the entrance, the exit, the dwelling place of the other in me. — Helene Cixous Copy Share Image
Writing is the delicate, difficult, and dangerous means of succeeding in avowing the unavowable. — Helene 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… — Hélène Cixous Copy Share Image
“This is what writing is: I one language, I another language, and between the two, the line that makes them vibrate; writing… — 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
And I was afraid. She frightens me because she can knock me down with a word. Because she does not know that… — Helene Cixous Copy Share Image
“The writer is a secret criminal. How? First because writing tries to undertake the journey toward strange sources of art that are… — 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
By writing her self, woman will return to the body which has been more than confiscated from her, which has been turned… — Helene Cixous Copy Share Image
“And why don't you write? Write! Writing is for you, you are for you; your body is yours, take it. I know… — 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
