Meditation needs no results. Meditation can have itself as an end, I meditate without words and on nothingness. What tangles my life is writing.

Censor the body and you censor breath and speech at the same time. Write yourself. Your body must be heard.

Women's imaginary is inexhaustible, like music, painting, writing: their stream of phantasms is incredible.

But I may also be afraid.I am afraid.I have already read it. And, not to lie to you, I liked it. But I am afraid. I am not afraid of you, Fidelia, Sania, Ania. I am afraid of you.(I put all this in my separate notebook. My doubtbook.)

When I write, it's everything that we don't know we can be that is written out of me, without exclusions, without stipulation, and everything we will be calls us to the unflagging, intoxicating, unappeasable search for love. In one another we will never be lacking.

Writing is the delicate, difficult, and dangerous means of succeeding in avowing the unavowable.

To fly/steal is woman’s gesture, to steal into language to make it fly.

There is hidden and always ready in woman the source; the locus for the other. The mother, too, is a metaphor. It is necessary and sufficient that the best of herself be given to woman by another woman for her to be able to love herself and return in love the body that was “born” to her. Touch me, caress me, you the living no-name, give me my self as myself.

And why don't you write? Write! Writing is for you, you are for you; your body is yours, take it.