Ivona Bozik

“Un poète n'est pas, comme on le croit, celui qui sait mieux que d'autres regarder la terre et le ciel, écouter le bruit de la mer, le gazouillis des sources et des oiseaux, un poète, vous en serez un, mon petit ami - les pièces sonnent, elle salue bien bas - un poète, on l'a dit et c'est vrai, c'est celui qui sait fabriquer un poème avec des mots.”
― Nathalie Sarraute

“The boy will grow older, and over time there will be other songs – not many – ten or maybe twenty in a lifespan, that stand apar from the rest of the music he will discover. He will realise as he grows older still, and crosses the Canadian border and drives down into Seattle, that not only are these songs holy or sacred, they are hiding songs – what the Aztec Indians call carrion songs – that deal exclusively in darkness, obfuscation, concealment and secrecy. He will realize that, for him, the purpose of these songs has been to shut off the sun, to draw a long shadow down and protect him from the corrosive glare of the world.”
― Nick Cave, The Sick Bag Song

“The window logs Kilburn’s skyline. Ungentrified, ungentrifiable. Boom and bust never come here. Here bust is permanent. Empty State Empire, empty Odeon, graffiti-streaked sidings rising and falling like a rickety roller coaster. Higgledy-piggledy rooftops and chimneys, some high, some low, packed tightly, shaken fags in a box. Behind the opposite window, retreating Willesden. Number 37. In the 1880s or thereabouts the whole thing went up at once – houses, churches, schools, cemeteries – an optimistic vision of Metroland. Little terraces, faux-Tudor piles. All the mod cons! Indoor toilet, hot water. Well-appointed country living for those tired of the city. Fast-forward. Disappointed city living for those tired of their countries.”
― Zadie Smith, NW

“life is a succession of misunderstandings, leading us on to the final truth, the only truth.”
― Roberto Bolaño, By Night in Chile