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"Have I been here with you? Did we come this way?
What is familiar because I have seen it before and what is just part of a familiar story? What is remembered and what is received? What is strange because I have forgotten it, or because it is new, or because this time I am on foot, or because this time I am undead, or because this time I am without you?"

"It was the end. But we did not know it then. You do not know the end has happened until later. Or you do not admit it. Looking back, you can see it.
And you realise that all the time after that was just an effort to keep going as if it weren't already over."

“No wonder the escaped grimoires were squabbling with each other. The older ones would disagree with the changes written down in the younger ones; the younger ones would chafe against the antiquated opinions of their elders. The drawers weren’t just meant to organize them, but to keep them separated from each other. Sorted chronologically, they would be filed with other grimoires they liked, t.”

i love myself an eccentric love interest😈

"It was always wise to be polite to books, whether or not they could hear you"

“For Sabina, to be becalmed meant to die.

Anxiety had entered her body and refused to run
through it. The silvery holes of her sieve against sorrow granted her at birth,
had clogged. Now the pain had lodged itself inside of her, inescapable”

“She had lost herself somewhere along the
frontier between her inventions, her stories, her fantasies and her true self.
The boundaries had become effaced, the tracks lost; she had walked into pure
chaos, and not a chaos which carried her like the galloping of romantic riders
in operas and legends, but which suddenly revealed the stage props: A
papier-mache horse.”

“Was it Sabina now rushing into her own rituals
of pleasure, or was it her father within her, his blood guiding her into
amorousness, dictating her intrigues, he who was inexorably woven with her by
threads of inheritance she could never separate again to know which one was
Sabina, which one her father whose role she had assumed by alchemy of mimetic
love.

Where was Sabina?”

“To whom could she explain that what she envied
in them was the ease with which they would step out of their roles, wash
themselves of it after the play and return to their true selves. She would have
wanted these metamorphoses of her personality to take place on the stage so
that at a given signal she would know for certain they were ended and she might
return to a permanent immutable Sabina.”

“Telephone wires only carried literal messages,
never the subterranean cries of distress, of desperation. Like telegrams they
delivered only final and finite blows: arrivals, departures, births and deaths,
but no room for fantasie”

“But when she saw four walls and a bed pushed
against the corner as if it had been flying and had collided against an
obstacle, she did not feel as other voyagers: “I have arrived at my destination
and can now remove my traveling costume,” but: “I have been captured and from
here, sooner or later, I must escape.”

”

“What I’m writing to you goes on and I am bewitched.”

“Everything comes to an end but what I’m writing to you
goes on. Which is good, very good. The best is not yet written. The best is
between the lines.”

“I’m not going to die, you hear, God? I don’t have the
courage, you hear? Don’t kill me, you hear? Because it’s a disgrace to be born
in order to die without knowing when or where. I’m going to stay very happy, you
hear? As a reply, as an insult. I guarantee one thing: we are not guilty. And I
have to understand while I’m alive, you hear? because afterwards it will be too
late.

“But now I want to see if I can capture what happened to
me by using words. As I use them I’ll be destroying to some extent what I felt—
but that’s inevitable. ”

“Perhaps it was worth being born in
order one day to implore mutely and mutely to receive.”

“I must speak because speaking saves. But I
have no word to say. What would a person say to himself in the madness of
sincerity? But it would be salvation. Though the terror of sincerity comes from
the part of the shadows that connect me to the world and to the creating
unconscious of the world. ”