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Tuesday, December 27, 2011
"She writes the way she dreams. Dreams of a life whose absence makes it all the more genuine, burning into clarity. The child does not enter into that life, nor does the husband, nor does she herself. It is a life she does not have, and yet it is her only life. She writes in order to have it. She writes for her daily bread, the one which is never given. The bread of silence, the loaf of light. The wheat of ink." Master Bobin