I want to know what it means to survive something. Does it just mean I get to keep my body?
∆ Olivia Gatwood, Life of the Party, We All Got Burnt That Summer
"Live these days.
Value every kiss.
And savor your body's blink between being born and dying."
-Tim Miller, Tar Pit Heart, His: Brilliant New Fiction By Gay Writers, ed. by Robert Drake with Terry Wolverton. 1995
I have a faith in the written word that escapes or mystifies many people I talk to in both my personal and professional lives. Words lie is a cliché, and my faith in words may cause some people to snicker at what they consider to be my naiveté; because they believe that people are so good at misinterpreting one another through words. I stick to my faith in words—words processed through tears and over coffees, words mistily remembered from literature that has left me breathless, words that assure me I am loved. I believe that words loosen the unconscious and bring its contents to the light, and unless that happens—or we aid its happening—more than a little, we sink toward a stasis or a psychic and bodily entropy that atrophies our ability to love ourselves.
Joanna Freuh, Swooning Beauty: a memoir of pleasure, X
Language itself is a revenant – that is, a ghost that walks again by repeating and being repeatable. It is older than the speaker, and it will live long after the speaker has died, thus indicating a future to come that is a repetition of the past and the present but still different. Language speaks the speaker, as if ghosts of past generations possesses them in order for them to express themselves to ghosts of the present as well as those of the future.
“To make the earth an object of huckstering—the earth which is our one and all, the first condition of our existence—was the last step toward making oneself an object of huckstering.”
Frederick Engels, "Outlines of a Critique of Political Economy" 1843
"... What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head.
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine.
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass..."
Andrew Marvell, "The Garden" 1681