…it’s only in the act of love that one finally attains the present’s speed, the intelligent, interior, slow speed, the non-measurable, precise, unknown speed, that transports us into the incalculable, deep, borderless, strangely marine instant – because in joy, as we know, we swim – and the instant is joy….
What is it O’clock? Or The Door (We Never Enter) – Hélène Cixous
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