Hannah Lee

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The Contortionist...
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To Anyone Who Eve...
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Audre Lorde
“I want to write rage but all that comes is sadness. We have been sad long enough to make this earth either weep or grow fertile. I am an anachronism, a sport, like the bee that was never meant to fly. Science said so. I am not supposed to exist. I carry death around in my body like a condemnation. But I do live. The bee flies. There must be some way to integrate death into living, neither ignoring it nor giving in to it.”
Audre Lorde, The Cancer Journals

Kōbō Abe
“He was angry at the things that bound the woman … and at the woman who let herself be bound.”
Kōbō Abe, The Woman in the Dunes

Mary MacLane
“And always while I am still young, there is that dim light, the Future. But it is indeed a dim, dim light, and ofttimes there’s a treachery in it.”
Mary MacLane, I Await the Devil's Coming

Mary MacLane
“Are there many things in this cool-hearted world so utterly exquisite as the pure love of one woman for another woman?”
Mary MacLane, I Await the Devil's Coming

Mary MacLane
“When I was very little, it was cold and dreary also, but I was certain it would be different when I should grow and be ten years old. It must be very nice to be ten, I thought, - and one would not be nearly so lonesome. But when the years passed and I was ten it was just exactly as lonesome. And
when I was ten everything was very hard to understand.
But it will surely be different when I am seventeen, I said, - I will know so much when I am seventeen. But when I was seventeen it was even more lonely; and everything was still harder to understand.
And again I said - faintly - everything will become clearer in a few years more, and I will wonder to think how stupid I have always been. But now the few years more have gone and here I am in loneliness that is more hopeless and harder to bear than when I was very little. Still, I wonder indeed
to think how stupid I have been - and now I am not so stupid. I do not tell myself that it will be different when I am five-and-twenty.
For I know that it will not be different.
I know that it will be the same dreariness, the same Nothingness, the same loneliness.”
Mary MacLane, I Await the Devil's Coming

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