muna > muna's Quotes

“SOMBRAS DOS DIAS QUE VIRÃO


Amanhã
me vestirão com cinzas na aurora,
me encherão a boca de flores
Aprenderei a dormir
na memória de um muro,
na respiração
de um animal que sonha.”
― Alejandra Pizarnik

“I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)
I fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet)I want no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)”
― E.E. Cummings

“He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

“Come sleep with me: We won't make Love, Love will make us.”
― Julio Cortázar

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

“i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new.”
― e.e. cummings

“Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.”
― Maya Angelou

“I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?

I am incapable of more knowledge.
What is this, this face
So murderous in its strangle of branches? -

Its snaky acids kiss.
It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults
That kill, that kill, that kill.”
― Sylvia Plath

“The monsters were never
under my bed.
Because the monsters
were inside my head.


I fear no monsters,
for no monsters I see.
Because all this time
the monster has been me.”
― Nikita Gill

“[...] não fugir de mim, não fugir de minha letra, como é leve e horrível, teia de aranha, não fugir dos meus defeitos, meus defeitos, eu vos adoro, minhas qualidades são tão pequenas, iguais às dos outros, meus defeitos, meu lado negativo é belo e côncavo como um abismo. O que não sou deixaria um buraco enorme na terra.”
― Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

“6
ela se desnuda no paraíso
de sua memória
ela desconhece o feroz destino
de suas visões
ela tem medo de não saber nomear
o que não existe



13
explicar com palavras deste mundo
que partiu de mim um barco levando-me



35
Vida, minha vida, deixa-te cair, deixa-te doer, minha vida, deixa-te enlaçar de fogo, de silêncio ingênuo, de pedras verdes na casa da noite, deixa-te cair e doer, minha vida.”
― Alejandra Pizarnik

“ANÉIS DE CINZA

São minhas vozes cantando
para que não cantem eles,
os amordaçados cinzentos na aurora,
e os vestidos de pássaro desolado na chuva.

Há, na espera,
um rumor de lilás se rompendo.
E há, quando chega o dia,
uma partição do sol em pequenos sóis negros.
E quando é noite, sempre,
uma tribo de palavras mutiladas
busca asilo em minha garganta,
para que não cantem eles,
os funestos, os donos do silêncio.”
― Alejandra Pizarnik

“RELÓGIO

Dama pequeníssima
moradora no coração de um pássaro
sai de manhã a pronunciar uma sílaba
NÃO”
― Alejandra Pizarnik

“RESGATE

E é sempre o jardim de lilás do outro lado do rio. Se a alma pergunta se fica longe, a resposta será: do outro lado do rio, não este, mas aquele.”
― Alejandra Pizarnik

“É que tudo o que eu tenho não se pode dar. Nem tomar. Eu mesma posso morrer de sede diante de mim. A solidão está misturada à minha essência...”
― Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

“A JAULA

Lá fora faz sol.
Não é mais que um sol
mas os homens olham-no
e depois cantam.

Eu não sei do sol.
Sei a melodia do anjo
e o sermão quente
do último vento.
Sei gritar até a aurora
quando a morte pousa nua
em minha sombra.

Choro debaixo do meu nome.
Aceno lenços na noite
e barcos sedentos de realidade
dançam comigo.
Oculto cravos
para escarnecer meus sonhos enfermos.

Lá fora faz sol.
Eu me visto de cinzas.”
― Alejandra Pizarnik

“O DESPERTAR

Senhor
A gaiola se tornou pássaro
e voou
e meu coração está louco
porque uiva para a morte
e sorri detrás do vento
para meus delírios

Que farei com o medo
Que farei com o medo

Já não dança a luz em meu sorriso
nem as estações queimam pombas em minhas idéias
Minhas mãos ficaram nuas
e foram aonde a morte
ensina os mortos a viver

Senhor
O ar me castiga o ser
Detrás do ar existem monstros
que bebem meu sangue

É o desastre
É a hora do vazio não vazio
É o instante de pôr ferrolho nos lábios
ouvir os condenados a gritar
contemplar cada um de meus nomes
enforcados no nada

Senhor
Tenho vinte anos
Também meus olhos têm vinte anos
e contudo não dizem nada

Senhor
Consumei minha vida num instante
A última inocência explodiu
Agora é o nunca jamais ou simplesmente foi

Por que não me suicido diante do espelho
e desapareço para reaparecer no mar
onde um grande barco me esperaria
com as luzes acesas?

Por que não extraio minhas veias
e faço com elas uma escada
para fugir ao outro lado da noite?

O princípio deu à luz o fim
Tudo continuará igual
Os sorrisos gastos
O interesse interessado
As gesticulações que arremedam o amor
Tudo continuará igual

Mas meus braços insistem em abraçar o mundo
Porque ainda não lhes ensinaram
que já é demasiado tarde

Senhor
Expulsa os féretros de meu sangue

Recordo minha infância
quando eu era uma anciã
As flores morriam em minhas mãos
porque a dança selvagem da alegria lhes destruía o coração
Recordo as negras manhãs de sol
quando era criança
quer dizer ontem
quer dizer faz séculos

Senhor
A gaiola se tornou pássaro
e devorou minhas esperanças

Senhor
A gaiola se tornou pássaro
Que farei com o medo”
― Alejandra Pizarnik

“I am not wrong: Wrong is not my name
My name is my own my own my own
and I can’t tell you who the hell set things up like this
but I can tell you that from now on my resistance
my simple and daily and nightly self-determination
may very well cost you your life”
― June Jordan, Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”
― Sylvia Plath

“I don’t know what they are called, the spaces between seconds– but I think of you always in those intervals.”
― Salvador Plascencia, The People of Paper

“One day I will forgive you; until then there are scabs everywhere that you have touched me.”
― Salvador Plascencia, The People of Paper

“Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.”
― Stephen King

“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.”
― Stephen King

“I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.”
― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

“It kills me sometimes, how people die.”
― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

“I am haunted by humans.”
― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

“A DEFINITION NOT FOUND
IN THE DICTIONARY
Not leaving: an act of trust and love,
often deciphered by children”
― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

“I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what could I tell her about those things that she didn't already know? I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race-that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant.”
― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

“We wear clothes, and speak, and create civilizations, and believe we are more than wolves. But inside us there is a word we cannot pronounce and that is who we are.”
― Anthony Marra, A Constellation of Vital Phenomena