Quotes from Anne Carson

Forró volt a hang, mint egy szín belseje.

The poached egg on your plate at breakfast is not dirt. The poached egg on page 202 of the Greek lexicon in the library of the British Museum is dirt.

The experience of eros as lack alerts a person to the boundaries of himself, of other people, of things in general. It is the edge separating my tongue from the taste for which it longs that teaches me what an edge is.

There is a moment when the water is not in one vessel nor in the other

On the Rules of Perspective A bad trick. Mistake. Dishonesty. These are the views of Braque. Why? Braque rejected perspective. Why? Someone who spends his life drawing profiles will end up believing that man has one eye, Braque felt. Braque wanted to take full possession of objects. He said as much in published interviews. Watching the small shiny planes of the landscape recede out of his grasp filled Braque with loss so he smashed them. Nature morte, said Braque.

A stranger is someone who sits very still at the kitchen table, looks down at his knuckles, thinks some day we will laugh about this, doesn't believe it.

Like two particles in a complex sentence we sit side by side moving forward, eyes on the road. Parataxis is a charged instant of language cold on the surface, unexplained underneath.

Fiction forms what streams in us. Naturally it is suspect.

I spent much of my childhood staring straight ahead at the hood of a car and America unrolling to the horizon. Father drove with eyes on the road. Stop the tape and look at these people, one young and one old. Like two stars hung in a deep wind in space, who appear motionless as they hurtle toward each other at 186,213 miles per second in a silence that cracks a wall.

To be a prophet, Knox emphasizes, requires living in and looking at the present, at what is really going on around you.

WHEN HE IS there they list the stones together. The stones are her lungs.

WHEN HE IS there they lift the stones together. The stones are her lungs.

détails All the same there are some small questions one would like to put to Sokrates. Or better still Sappho. Avec tes mains brûlées .

aH of H: I cannot rise. Too heavy with filth and sin. Th: Give me your hand. H of H: I'll stain you. Th: I'll take it.

To abolish seduction is a mother's goal. She will replace it with what is real - products.

What sense is there in pain at all—however we contrive it for ourselves as we cast about for ways to bind up the wound between us and God?

How does distance look?' is a simple direct question. It extends from a spaceless within to the edge of what can be loved. It depends on light.

Components of today include a shape asleep on the floor an erased white world the tumblers vibrating in the closet and he brought the wrong book. Alive in a room as usual.

El frío baja desmochado desde el hueso de luna del cielo.

stolen my reasoning mind" (Theognis 1271). Eros is expropriation. He robs the body of limbs, substance, integrity and leaves the lover, essentially, less. This

Aristotle thought earthquakes were caused by winds trapped in subterranean caves. We're more scientific now, we know it's just five guys fracking the fuck out of the world while it's still legal.

Gyermekként úgy élünk, szinte az eget súroljuk, de most miféle virradat ez.

El deseo duplicado es amor y el amor duplicado es locura.

How does distance look?" is a simple direct question. It extends from a spaceless within to the edge of what can be loved.