aya ! > !'s Quotes

“To give yourself over to another body
That’s all you want really
To be out of your own and consumed by another
To swim inside the skin of your lover
Not have to breathe
Not have to think
But you can’t live on love
And salt water’s no drink
We're dying of thirst so we feast on each other
The sea is still our violent mother
The blood round here pours down like water
Each wave a lamb lead to the slaughter
And like children that she just can’t teach
We break, and break, and break
And break ourselves upon the beach- Body of Water”
― Florence Welch, Useless Magic: Lyrics and Poetry

“Sweet mother, I cannot weave –
slender Aphrodite has overcome me
with longing for a girl.”
― Sappho, Sappho: A New Translation of the Complete Works

“In the crooks of your body, I find my religion.”
― Sappho

“If you love me, love me whole
not by zones of light or shadow…
if you love me, love me black
and white, and gray and green and blond,
and mixed…
love me day,
love me night…
and in the morning with the open window!

If you love me, don’t break me in pieces:
love me whole… Or do not love me at all.”
― Dulce María Loynaz

“You sensed that you should be following a different path, a more ambitious one, you felt that you were destined for other things but you had no idea how to achieve them and in your misery you began to hate everything around you.”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Netochka Nezvanova

“Let me die the moment my love dies.
Let me not outlive my own capacity to love.
Let me die still loving, and so, never die.”
― Mary Zimmerman, Metamorphoses

“I killed a plant once because I gave
it too much water. Lord, I worry
that love is violence.”
― José Olivarez, Citizen Illegal

“Is to be in love with blue, then, to be in love with a disturbance? Or is the love itself the disturbance? And what kind of madness is it anyway, to be in love with something constitutionally incapable of loving you back?”
― Maggie Nelson, Bluets

“For if the modern mind is whimsical and discursive, the classical mind is narrow, unhesitating, relentless. It is not a quality of intelligence that one encounters frequently these days. But though I can digress with the best of them, I am nothing in my soul if not obsessive.”
― Donna Tartt, The Secret History

“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“قلْبي يُحدّثُني بأنّكَ مُتلِفي، روحي فداكَ عرفتَ أمْ لمْ تعرفِ
لم أقضِ حقَّ هَوَاكَ إن كُنتُ الذي لم أقضِ فيهِ أسى ً، ومِثلي مَن يَفي
ما لي سِوى روحي، وباذِلُ نفسِهِ، في حبِّ منْ يهواهُ ليسَ بمسرفِ
فَلَئنْ رَضيتَ بها، فقد أسْعَفْتَني؛ يا خيبة َ المسعى إذا لمْ تسعفِ
يا مانِعي طيبَ المَنامِ، ومانحي ثوبَ السِّقامِ بهِ ووجدي المتلفِ
عَطفاً على رمَقي، وما أبْقَيْتَ لي منْ جِسميَ المُضْنى ، وقلبي المُدنَفِ
فالوَجْدُ باقٍ، والوِصالُ مُماطِلي، والصّبرُ فانٍ، واللّقاءُ مُسَوّفي
لم أخلُ من حَسدٍ عليكَ، فلاتُضعْ سَهَري بتَشنيعِ الخَيالِ المُرْجِفِ
واسألْ نُجومَ اللّيلِ:هل زارَ الكَرَى جَفني، وكيفَ يزورُ مَن لم يَعرِفِ؟
لا غَروَ إنْ شَحّتْ بِغُمضِ جُفونها عيني وسحَّتْ بالدُّموعِ الدُّرَّفِ
وبماجرى في موقفِ التَّوديعِ منْ ألمِ النّوى ، شاهَدتُ هَولَ المَوقِفِ
إن لم يكُنْ وَصْلٌ لَدَيكَ، فَعِدْ بهِ أملي وماطلْ إنْ وعدتَ ولاتفي
فالمطلُ منكَ لديَّ إنْ عزَّ الوفا يحلو كوصلٍ منْ حبيبٍ مسعفِ
أهفو لأنفاسِ النَّسيمِ تعلَّة ً ولوجهِ منْ نقلتْ شذاهُ تشوُّفي
فلَعَلَ نارَ جَوانحي بهُبوبِها أنْ تَنطَفي، وأوَدّ أن لا تنطَفي
يا أهلَ ودِّي أنتمُ أملي ومنْ ناداكُمُ يا أهْلَ وُدّي قد كُفي
عُودوا لَما كُنتمْ عليهِ منَ الوَفا، كرماً فإنِّي ذلكَ الخلُّ الوفي
وحياتكمْ وحياتكمْ قسماً وفي عُمري، بغيرِ حياتِكُمْ، لم أحْلِفِ
لوْ أنَّ روحي في يدي ووهبتها لمُبَشّري بِقَدومِكُمْ، لم أنصفِ
لا تحسبوني في الهوى متصنِّعاً كلفي بكمْ خلقٌ بغيرِ تكلُّفِ
أخفيتُ حبَّكمُ فأخفاني أسى ً حتى ، لعَمري، كِدتُ عني أختَفي
وكَتَمْتُهُ عَنّي، فلو أبدَيْتُهُ لَوَجَدْتُهُ أخفى منَ اللُّطْفِ الخَفي
ولقد أقولُ لِمن تَحَرّشَ بالهَوَى : عرَّضتَ نفسكَ للبلا فاستهدفِ
أنتَ القتيلُ بأيِّ منْ أحببتهُ فاخترْ لنفسكَ في الهوى منْ تصطفي
قلْ للعذولِ أطلتَ لومي طامعاً أنَّ الملامَ عنِ الهوى مستوقفي
دعْ عنكَ تعنيفي وذقْ طعمَ الهوى فإذا عشقتَ فبعدَ ذلكَ عنِّفِ
بَرَحَ الخَفاءَبحُبّ مَن لو، في الدّجى سفرَ الِّلثامَ لقلتُ يا بدرُ اختفِ
وإن اكتفى غَيْري بِطيفِ خَيالِهِ، فأنا الَّذي بوصالهِ لا أكتفي
وَقْفاً عَلَيْهِ مَحَبّتي، ولِمِحنَتي، بأقَلّ مِنْ تَلَفي بِهِ، لا أشْتَفي
وهَواهُ، وهوَ أليّتي، وكَفَى بِهِ قَسَماً، أكادُ أُجِلّهُ كالمُصْحَفِ
لوْ قالَ تِيهاً:قِفْ على جَمْرِ الغَضا لوقفتُ ممتثلاً ولمْ أتوقفِ
أوْ كانَ مَنْ يَرْضَى ، بخدّي، موطِئاً لوضعتهُ أرضاً ولمْ أستنكفِ
لا تنكروا شغفي بما يرضى وإنْ هوَ بالوصالِ عليَّ لمْ يتعطَّفِ
غَلَبَ الهوى ، فأطَعتُ أمرَ صَبابَتي منْ حيثُ فيهِ عصيتُ نهيَ معنِّفي
مني لَهُ ذُلّ الخَضوع، ومنهُ لي عزُّ المنوعِ وقوَّة ُ المستضعفِ
ألِفَ الصّدودَ، ولي فؤادٌ لم يَزلْ، مُذْ كُنْتُ، غيرَ وِدادِهِ لم يألَفِ
ياما أميلحَ كلَّ ما يرضى بهِ ورضابهُ ياما أحيلاهُ بفي
لوْ أسمعوا يعقوبَ ذكرَ ملاحة ٍ في وجههِ نسيَ الجمالَ اليوسفي
أوْ لوْ رآهُ عائداً أيُّوبُ في سِنَة ِ الكَرَى ، قِدماً، من البَلوَى شُفي
كلُّ البدورِ إذا تجلَّى مقبلاً ، تَصبُو إلَيهِ، وكُلُّ قَدٍّ أهيَفِ
إنْ قُلْتُ:عِندي فيكَ كل صَبابة ٍ؛ قالَ:المَلاحة ُ لي، وكُلُّ الحُسْنِ في
كَمَلتْ مَحاسِنُهُ، فلو أهدى السّنا للبدرِ عندَ تمامهِ لمْ يخسفِ
وعلى تَفَنُّنِ واصِفيهِ بِحُسْنِهِ، يَفْنى الزّمانُ، وفيهِ ما لم يُوصَفِ
ولقدْ صرفتُ لحبِّهِ كلِّي على يدِ حسنهِ فحمدتُ حسنَ تصرُّفي
فالعينُ تهوى صورة َ الحسنِ الَّتي روحي بها تصبو إلى معنى ً خفي
أسْعِدْ أُخَيَّ، وغنِّ لي بِحَديثِهِ، وانثُرْ على سَمْعي حِلاهُ، وشَنِّفِ
لأرى بعينِ السّمعِ شاهِدَ حسْنِهِ معنى ً فأتحفني بذاكَ وشرِّفِ
يا أختَ سعدٍ منْ حبيبي جئتني بِرسالَة ٍ أدّيْتِها بتَلَطّفِ
فسمعتُ مالمْ تسمعي ونظرتُ ما لمْ تنظري وعرفتُ مالمْ تعرفي
إنْ زارَ، يوماً ياحَشايَ تَقَطَّعي، كَلَفاً بهِ، أو سارَ، يا عينُ اذرِفي
ما للنّوى ذّنْبٌ، ومَنْ أهوى مَعي، إنْ غابَ عنْ إنسانِ عيني فهوَ في”
― ابن الفارض

“I am destroying myself so other people can’t," she said, "and it’s the worst kind of control but it’s the only form I know.”
― Sue Zhao

“J’ai tué ma mère en moi à ce moment-là.”
― Annie Ernaux, L'Événement

“What is beautiful is good, and who is good will soon be beautiful.”
― Sappho

“Sometimes I think illness sits inside every woman, waiting for the right moment to bloom. I have known so many sick women all my life. Women with chronic pain, with ever-gestating diseases. Women with conditions. Men, sure, they have bone snaps, they have backaches, they have a surgery or two, yank out a tonsil, insert a shiny plastic hip. Women get consumed.”
― Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects

“A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.”
― Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects

“Sometimes if you let people do things to you, you're really doing it to them.”
― Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects

“I just think some women aren't made to be mothers. And some women aren't made to be daughters.”
― Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects

“There was nothing I wanted to do more than be unconscious again, wrapped in black, gone away. I was raw. I felt swollen with potential tears, like a water balloon filled to burst. Begging for a pin prick.”
― Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects

“I am a cutter, you see. Also a snipper, a slicer, a carver, a jabber. I am a very special case. I have a purpose. My skin, you see, screams. It's covered with words - cook, cupcake, kitty, curls - as if a knife-wielding first-grader learned to write on my flesh. I sometimes, but only sometimes, laugh. Getting out of the bath and seeing, out of the corner of my eye, down the side of a leg: babydoll. Pull on a sweater and, in a flash of my wrist: harmful. Why these words? Thousands of hours of therapy have yielded a few ideas from the good doctors. They are often feminine, in a Dick and Jane, pink vs. puppy dog tails sort of way. Or they're flat-out negative. Number of synonyms for anxious carved in my skin: eleven. The one thing I know for sure is that at the time, it was crucial to see these letters on me, and not just see them, but feel them. Burning on my left hip: petticoat.

And near it, my first word, slashed on an anxious summer day at age thirteen: wicked. I woke up that morning, hot and bored, worried about the hours ahead. How do you keep safe when your whole day is as wide and empty as the sky? Anything could happen. I remember feeling that word, heavy and slightly sticky across my pubic bone. My mother's steak knife. Cutting like a child along red imaginary lines. Cleaning myself. Digging in deeper. Cleaning myself. Pouring bleach over the knife and sneaking through the kitchen to return it. Wicked. Relief. The rest of the day, I spent ministering to my wound. Dig into the curves of W with an alcohol-soaked Q-tip. Pet my cheek until the sting went away. Lotion. Bandage. Repeat.”
― Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects

“Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness.

Everything passes.

That is the one and only thing that I have thought resembled a truth in the society of human beings where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell.

Everything passes.”
― Osamu Dazai, No Longer Human

“Where does music go when it’s not playing?—she asked herself. And disarmed she would answer: May they make a harp out of my nerves when I die.”
― Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

“Never suffer because you don't have an opinion on this or that topic. Never suffer because you are not something or because you are.”
― Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

“When I suddenly see myself in the depths of the mirror, I take fright. I can scarcely believe that I have limits, that I am outlined and defined. I feel myself to be dispersed in the atmosphere, thinking inside other creatures, living inside things beyond myself. When I suddenly see myself in the mirror, I am not startled because I find myself ugly or beautiful. I discover, in fact, that I possess another quality. When I haven't looked at myself for some time, I almost forget that I am human, I tend to forget my past, and I find myself with the same deliverance from purpose and conscience as something that is barely alive. I am also surprised to find as I gaze into the pale mirror with open eyes that there is so much in me beyond what is known, so much that remains ever silent.”
― Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

“How was she to tie herself to a man without permitting him to imprison her? And was there some means of acquiring things without those things possessing her?”
― Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

“The sea, the sea’s swell, silent and breathless.”
― Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

“Freedom isn't enough. What I desire doesn't have a name yet.”
― Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

“God is alive; Magic is afoot
God is alive; Magic is afoot
God is afoot; Magic is alive
Alive is afoot.....
Magic never died.
God never sickened;
Many poor men lied
Many sick men lied
Magic never weakened
Magic never hid
Magic always ruled
God is afoot
God never died.
God was ruler
Though his funeral lengthened
Though his mourners thickened
Magic never fled
Though his shrouds were hoisted
The naked God did live
Though his words were twisted
The naked Magic thrived
Though his death was published
Round and round the world
The heart did not believe
Many hurt men wondered
Many struck men bled
Magic never faltered
Magic always led.
Many stones were rolled
But God would not lie down
Many wild men lied
Many fat men listened
Though they offered stones
Magic still was fed
Though they locked their coffers
God was always served.
Magic is afoot. God rules.
Alive is afoot. Alive is in command.
Many weak men hungered
Many strong men thrived
Though they boasted solitude
God was at their side
Nor the dreamer in his cell
Nor the captain on the hill
Magic is alive
Though his death was pardoned
Round and round the world
The heart did not believe.
Though laws were carved in marble
They could not shelter men
Though altars built in parliaments
They could not order men
Police arrested Magic
And Magic went with them,
For Magic loves the hungry.
But Magic would not tarry
It moves from arm to arm
It would not stay with them
Magic is afoot
It cannot come to harm
It rests in an empty palm
It spawns in an empty mind
But Magic is no instrument
Magic is the end.
Many men drove Magic
But Magic stayed behind
Many strong men lied
They only passed through Magic
And out the other side
Many weak men lied
They came to God in secret
And though they left him nourished
They would not say who healed
Though mountains danced before them
They said that God was dead
Though his shrouds were hoisted
The naked God did live
This I mean to whisper to my mind
This I mean to laugh with in my mind
This I mean my mind to serve 'til
Service is but Magic
Moving through the world
And mind itself is Magic
Coursing through the flesh
And flesh itself is Magic
Dancing on a clock
And time itself the magic length of God.”
― Leonard Cohen

“Briseis is kneeling by my body. She has brought water and cloth, and washes the blood and dirt from my skin. Her hands are gentle, as though she washes a baby, not a dead thing. Achilles opens the tent, and their eyes meet over my body.

"Get away from him," he says.

"I am almost finished. He does not deserve to lie in filth."

"I would not have your hands on him."

Her eyes are sharp with tears. "Do you think you are the only one who loved him?"

"Get out. Get out!"

"You care more for him in death than in life." Her voice is bitter with grief. "How could you have let him go? You knew he could not fight!"

Achilles screams, and shatters a serving bowl. "Get out!"

Briseis does not flinch. "Kill me. It will not bring him back. He was worth ten of you. Ten! And you sent him to his death!"

The sound that comes from him is hardly human. "I tried to stop him! I told him not to leave the beach!"

"You are the one who made him go." Briseis steps towards him. "He fought to save you, and your darling reputation. Because he could not bear to see you suffer!"

Achilles buries his face in his hands. But she does not relent. "You have never deserved him. I do not know why he ever loved you. You care only for yourself!"

Achilles' gaze lifts to meet hers. She is afraid, but does not draw back. "I hope that Hector kills you."

The breath rasps in his throat. "Do you think I do not hope the same?" he asks.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“Amo amas amat amamus amatis amant amavi amavisti amavit amavimus amavistis amaverunt amavero amaveris amaverit… Everything was love. Everything will be love. Everything has been love. Everything would be love. Everything would have been love. Ah, that was it, the truth at last. Everything would have been love. The huge eye, which had become an immense sphere, was gently breathing, only it was not an eye nor a sphere but a great wonderful animal covered in little waving legs like hairs, waving oh so gently as if they were under water. All shall be well and all shall be well said the ocean. So the place of reconciliation existed after all, not like a little knot hole in a cupboard but flowing everywhere and being everything. I had only to will it and it would be, for spirit is omnipotent only I never knew it, like being able to walk on the air. I could forgive. I could be forgiven. I could forgive. Perhaps that was the whole of it after all. Perhaps being forgiven was just forgiving only no one had ever told me. There was nothing else needful. Just to forgive. Forgiving equals being forgiven, the secret of the universe, do not whatever you do forget it. The past was folded up and in the twinkling of an eye everything had been changed and made beautiful and good.”
― Iris Murdoch, A Word Child