Fences in Breathing Quotes

“Je suis partout où je suis.”
― Nicole Brossard, La Capture du sombre

“La terrasse bruisse d'un va-et-vient de tons montants, descendants, neutres qui font comme des exclamations et des glissades d'eau au milieu du chant des oiseaux.”
― Nicole Brossard, La Capture du sombre

“[...] cela m'excite de penser à tout ce qui fuit dans la vie au nom de la vie.”
― Nicole Brossard, La Capture du sombre

“More and more I love darkness for itself, it soothes me, makes me feel good, though I don’t quite understand why. I also love it because I am trying to imagine language without light, as though I wanted to understand how things were before language, when, deep in the throat, syllables and vowels were not yet organized and it was necessary to tilt one’s head back to allow sounds to fly through the open air, terrifying, guttural or strident. In the beginning, I thought the other language would enlighten me, clarify the mysteries of my inner life. I wanted to learn to read inside myself. Reading inside oneself may not be important.”
― Nicole Brossard, Fences in Breathing

“I am trying to imagine language without light, as though I wanted to understand how things were before language, when, deep in the throat, syllables and vowels were not yet organized and it was necessary to tilt one’s head back to allow sounds to fly through the open air, terrifying, guttural or strident.”
― Nicole Brossard, Fences in Breathing

“women laugh in such ways that we can’t see the fences in their breathing”
― Nicole Brossard, Fences in Breathing

“opening and closing the pages of a celestial dictionary at will and always falling upon the words hair fur and sex until a bunch of distant images arise at the same time as June when she kneels in front of me her tongue making little cross-strokes in my full-moon fur my enchanted-lake fur we should do it again so that I too can stroke through June’s fur.”
― Nicole Brossard, Fences in Breathing

“He says tools but somebody will mention the cutting edges of things and one will see billhook, scythe, fauchard, debris, wood chips and sketches all entangled like words in summertime, when crickets and corn, lives and vines, sunflowers and stormy hours touch and quench one another.”
― Nicole Brossard, Fences in Breathing