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Quote by Kimberly Novosel

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Kimberly Novosel

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“Well then, he said. What are you doing here? I am not sure. Liberty I suppose. I lived so long under constraints. You wonder why I grub about in the mud - it's what I remember from childhood. Barely ever wearing shoes - picking gorse for cordial, watching the ponds boiling with frogs. And then there was Michael, and he was - civilised. He would pave over every bit of woodland, have every sparrow mounted on a plinth. And he had me mounted on a plinth. My waist pinched, my hair burned into curls, the colour on my face painted out, then painted in again. And now I'm free to sink back into the earth if I like - to let myself grow over with moss and lichen. Perhaps you're appalled to think we are no higher than the animals, or at least, if we are, only one rung further up the ladder. But no, no - it has given me liberty. No other animal abides by rules - why then must we?”

NatureFreedomSilenceLibertyFeminismAuthenticityPatriarchyRulesConstraint
Author:Sarah Perry
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“Now they came, spectres in mourning, humbling themselves, ghosts, their eyes the only points of brightness. It was harrowing: a long cortege of shadows. This time silence had come flooding in. Not a sound, not a cry. A silence all the more sinister for being black. There is the white silence of the Beguines' workrooms; it is sweet. Here was a black silence that strikes terror to the heart, slipping past like water, as full of pitfalls as the night. At first all that could be made out was a tangle of crosses, all the raised arms of the crosses of a graveyard. All with their dead.”

SilencePenitence
Book:The Bells of Bruges
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“Yo sí sé lo que significa el no pronunciar las palabras que me devolverían la vida. Las tengo ensayadas, desesperantemente ensayadas. En el momento en que me decidiera surgirían fluidas y rotundas. Inapelables. Son redondas, pulidas. La frase completa es como una joya. La tengo, es mía. La veo brillar en medio del silencio. Con sólo pronunciarla todo me sería devuelto. Pero allí permanece, al borde de mis labios, como al borde de un río crecido, imposible de cruzar. ¿Sabes lo que es quedarse a la orilla de uno mismo, contemplándose?”

Silence
Book:The False Years
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