iemiesotas domas


Why is it that the most unoriginal thing we can say to one another is still the thing we long to hear? “I love you” is always a quotation. You dit not say it first and neither did I, yet when you say it and when I say it we speak like savages who have found three words and worship them.

Love demands expression. It will not stay still, stay silent, be good, be modest, be seen and not heard, no. It will break out in tongues of praise, the high note that smashes the glass and spills the liquid.

A precise emotion seeks a precise expression. If what I feel is not precise then should I call it love?

Why do human beings need answers? Partly I suppose because without one, almost any one, the question itself soon sounds silly.

(..) I thought how easy it is to destroy the past and how difficult to forget it.

Frighten me? Yes you do frighten me. You act as though we will be together for ever. You act as though there is infinite pleasure and time without end. How can I know that? My experience has been that time always ends. In theory you are right, the quantum physicists are right, the romantics and the religious are right. Time without end. In practice we both wear a watch. If I rush at this realtionship it’s because I fear for it. I fear you have a door I cannot see and that any minute now the door will open and you’ll be gone. Then what?

I don’t want to lose this happy space where I have found someone who is smart and easy and who dosen’t bother to check her diary when we arrange to meet.

You never give away your heart; you lend it from time to time. If it were not so how could we take it back without asking?

Things don’t change, they’re not like the seasons moving on a diurnal round. People change things. There are victims of change but not victims of things.

In the park in the rain I had recognised on thing at least; that Louise was the woman I wanted even if I couldn’t have her.

No-one can legislate love; it cannot be given orders or cajoled into service.Love belongs to itself, deaf to pleading and unmoved by violence. Love is not something you can negotiate. Love is the one thing stronger than desire and the only proper reason to resist temptation.

When I say “I will be true to you” I must mean it in spite of the formalities, instead of the formalities.

What other places are there in the world than those discovered on a lover’s body?

The odd thing about Louise, being with Louise, was deja vu. I couldn’t know her well and yet I did know her well. Not facts and figures, I was endlessly curious about her life, rather a particular trust. That afternoon, it seemed to me I had always been here with Louise, we were familiar.

I don’t want to be fated, I want to choose.

Sex can feel like love or maybe it’s guilt that makes me call sex love.

Why is the mind incapable of deciding its own subject matter? Why when we desperately want to think of one thing do we invariably think of another?

“Men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.” Shakespeare was wrong, I was living proof of that. “You ought to be dead proof,” I said  to myself. “If you’re living proof he was right.”

To lose someone you love is to alter your life for ever. You don’t get over it because “it” is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes. How could it?

You don’t run out on the woman you love. Especially you don’t when you think it’s for her own good.

/Jeanette Winterson “Written On The Body”


About autorsanonims

A[utors] A[nonīms] - par sevi un šķībo dzīvi, kuru negribot nākas dzīvot

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