SOLILOQUY OF A SOLIPSIST

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — SYLVIA PLATH

"I

Know you appear

Vivid at my side,

Denying you sprang out of my head,

Claiming you feel

Love fiery enough to prove flesh real,

Though it's quite clear

All your beauty, all your wit, is a gift, my dear,

From me."

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MEDLARS AND SORB APPLES

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — D.H. LAWRENCE

"I love you, rotten,

Delicious rottenness."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ...

"Autumnal excrementa;

What is it that reminds us of white gods?

Gods nude as blanched nut-kernels,

Strangely, half-sinisterly flesh-fragrant

As if with sweat,

And drenched with mystery.

Sorb-apples, medlars with dead crowns.

I say, wonderful are the hellish experiences,

Orphic, delicate

Dionysos of the Underworld."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ...

"A kiss, and a vivid spasm of farewell, a moment’s orgasm of rupture,

Then along the damp road alone, till the next turning.

And there, a new partner, a new parting, a new unfusing into twain,

A new gasp of further isolation,

A new intoxication of loneliness, among decaying, frost-cold leaves.

Going down the strange lanes of hell, more and more intensely alone,

The fibres of the heart parting one after the other

And yet the soul continuing, naked-footed, ever more vividly embodied

Like a flame blown whiter and whiter

In a deeper and deeper darkness,

Ever more exquisite, distilled in separation.

So, in the strange retorts of medlars and sorb-apples

The distilled essence of hell."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ...

"Orphic farewell, and farewell, and farewell

And the ego sum of Dionysos

The sono io of perfect drunkenness

Intoxication of final loneliness."

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THE BOOK OF DISQUIET

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — FERNANDO PESSOA

“Man shouldn’t be able to see his own face--there’s nothing more sinister... Only in the water of rivers and ponds could he look at his face. And the very posture he had to assume was symbolic. He had to bend over, stoop down, to commit the ignominy of beholding himself.”

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THE SECRET HISTORY

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — DONNA TARTT

RICHARD: “I am nothing in my soul if not obsessive.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ...

FRANCIS: “Forgive me, for all the things I did but mostly for the ones that I did not.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ...

JULIAN: “It's a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripides speaks of the Maenads: head thrown I back, throat to the stars, "more like deer than human being." To be absolutely free! One is quite capable, of course, of working out these destructive passions in more vulgar and less efficient ways. But how glorious to release them in a single burst! To sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal! These are powerful mysteries. The bellowing of bulls. Springs of honey bubbling from the ground. If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.”

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VENUS IN FURS

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — LEOPOLD VON SADER-MASOCH

“You have corrupted my imagination and inflamed my blood...”

“Why not?" she said, "and take note of what I am about to say to you. Never feel secure with the woman you love, for there are more dangers in woman's nature than you imagine. Women are neither as good as their admirers and defenders maintain, nor as bad as their enemies make them out to be. Woman's character is characterlessness. The best woman will momentarily go down into the mire, and the worst unexpectedly rises to deeds of greatness and goodness and puts to shame those that despise her. No woman is so good or so bad, but that at any moment she is capable of the most diabolical as well as of the most divine, of the filthiest as well as of the purest, thoughts, emotions, and actions. In spite of all the advances of civilization, woman has remained as she came out of the hand of nature. She has the nature of a savage, who is faithful or faithless, magnanimous or cruel, according to the impulse that dominates at the moment. Throughout history it has always been a serious deep culture which has produced moral character. Man even when he is selfish or evil always follows principles, woman never follows anything but impulses. Don't ever forget that, and never feel secure with the woman you love.”

“Shall I belong to one man whom I don't love, merely because I have once loved him? No, I do not renounce; I love everyone who pleases me, and give happiness to everyone who loves me. Is that ugly? No, it is more beautiful by far.”

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THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — OSCAR WILDE

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓇼

BEASTS

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — JOYCE CAROL OATES

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓇼

MY DARK VANESSA

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — KATE ELIZABETH RUSSELL

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓇼

THE HOUR OF THE STAR

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — CLARICE LISPECTOR

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓇼

LITTLE BIRDS

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — ANAIS NIN

"This little wound women have... It scares me."