lispector-night

October 15, 2024

The dense, dark night was cut down the middle, split into two black blocks of sleep. Where was she? Between the two pieces, looking at them (the one she had already slept and the one she had yet to sleep), isolated in the timeless and the spaceless, in an empty gap. This stretch would be subtracted from her years of life.

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Thought:

“I have never thought about the audience… It seems to me that when I write something, I cast myself as a witness to what I’m doing. And I try to feel, to experience the emotions — both my own, in making the thing, and the spectator’s, in viewing what I’ve made.”

Robert Bresson

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