Virginia Woolf

“Is the true self this which stands on the pavement in January, or that which bends over the balcony in June? Am I here, or am I there? Or is the true self neither this nor that, neither here nor there, but something so varied and wandering that it is only when we give the rein to its wishes and let it take its way unimpeded that we are indeed ourselves?” — Virginia Woolf, Street Haunting: A London Adventure.

Emily Dickinson

Color - Caste - Denomination - These - are Time's Affair - Death's diviner Classifying Does not know they are - As in sleep - all Hue forgotten - Tenets - put behind - Death's large - Democratic fingers Rub away the Brand - If Circassian - He is careless - If He put away Chrysalis of Blonde - or Umber - Equal Butterfly - They emerge from His Obscuring - What Death - knows so well - Our minuter intuitions - Deem unplausible

Rest in Peace, Ye Maker of Worlds.

“If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads. I wish you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories — science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.” ― Ray Bradbury