“When I desire you a part of me is gone; your lack is my lack. I would not be in want of you unless you had partaken of me, the lover reasons. “A hole is being gnawed in [my] vitals” says Sappho. “You have snatched my lungs out of my chest,” and “pierced me right through the bones” says Archilochos. “You have worn me down,” (Alkman) “grated me away,” (Archilochos) “devoured my flesh,” (Archilochos) “sucked my blood,” (Theokritos) “mowed off my genitals,” (Archilochos) “stolen my reasoning mind” (Theognis).”— Anne Carson, Eros: The Bittersweet.
I’m not afraid of being lost. We all wander off from time to time. It’s the fear of never quite finding myself that keeps me up at night.
— Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
(via minuty)
(via minuty)
You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know.
— (via goodreadss)
