“Women can go mad with insomnia.
The sleep-deprived roam houses that have lost their familiarity. With tea mugs in hand, we wander rooms, looking on shelves for something we will recognize: a book title, a photograph, the teak-carved bird -- a souvenir from what place? A memory almost rises when our eyes rest on a painting's grey sweep of cloud, or the curve of a wooden leg in a corner. Fingertips faintly recall the raised pattern on a chair cushion, but we wonder how these things have come to be here, in this stranger's home.
Lost women drift in places where time has collapsed. We look into our thoughts and hearts for what has been forgotten, for what has gone missing. What did we once care about? Whom did we love? We are emptied. We are remote. Like night lilies, we open in the dark, breathe in the shadowy world. Our soliloquies are heard by no one.”
― Cathy Ostlere, Lost

“I stand up. Stretch my arms out wide to the
empty horizon. Do not be afraid of limitless
possibilities. The desert is infinite to the eye
as love is to the heart.”
― Cathy Ostlere

“There’s no money in poetry, but then there’s no poetry in money either.” - Robert Graves”
― Robert Graves

“The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say.”
― Anaïs Nin

“There are perhaps no days of our childhood we lived so fully as those we spent with a favourite book.”
― Marcel Proust

“A poet can survive everything but a misprint.”
― Oscar Wilde