Helene Isnard

“It is really a matter of ending this silence and solitude, of breathing and stretching one's arms again.”
― Mark Rothko

“for the path of comets/ is the path of poets: they burn without warming,/ pick without cultivating. They are: an explosion, a breaking in”
― Marina Tsvetaeva

“I believe that art has a kind of rightness, as in music, when we hear whether or not a note is false”
― Gerhard Richter

“I write. I give intimate private names to an external and foreign world. In a sense, I make it mine. In a sense, I return from feeling exiled and foreign to feeling at home. By doing so, I am already making a small change in what appeared to me earlier as unchangeable. Also, when I describe the impermeable arbitrariness that signs my destiny — arbitrariness at the hands of a human being, or arbitrariness at the hands of fate — I suddenly discover new nuances, subtleties. I discover that the mere act of writing about arbitrariness allows me to feel a freedom of movement in relation to it. That by merely facing up to arbitrariness I am granted freedom — maybe the only freedom a man may have against any arbitrariness: the freedom to put your tragedy into your own words. The freedom to express yourself differently, innovatively, before that which threatens to chain and bind one to arbitrariness and its limited, fossilizing definitions.”
― David Grossman, Writing in the Dark: Essays on Literature and Politics