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Quote by Maggie Nelson

“Eventually I confess to a friend some details about my weeping—its intensity, its frequency. She says (kindly) that she thinks we sometimes weep in front of a mirror not to inflame self-pity, but because we want to feel witnessed in our despair.”

Quote by Maggie Nelson

Book:Bluets

Work

Bluets

In this thought-provoking essay collection, the author delves into the multifaceted nature of the color blue, examining its significance in art, literature, and personal experiences. The essays offer a unique perspective on the emotional and symbolic meanings associated with blue, weaving together personal reflections with historical and cultural insights. more

Author

Maggie Nelson
Maggie Nelson

Maggie Nelson (b. 1973) is an American poet, essayist, and critic known for her genre-defying works that blend poetry, memoir, theory, and criticism. Her writing explores themes of gender, violence, family, and art. Her acclaimed book 'The Argonauts' won the 2016 National Book Critics Circle Award and became a landmark in queer theory and autobiographical writing. Nelson's unique style combines first-person narrative with philosophical inquiry, challenging traditional literary categories. She has taught at the California Institute of the Arts and the University of Southern California, and currently lives in Los Angeles. more

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“You aren’t falling apart. You’re well beyond that. You’re just rattling along now. Elven dolls doing what little you can to gather the pieces as they fall away. But you don’t know how to properly reattach them—a doll does not repair itself. So you hug those brittle fragments to your chest until you simply cannot hug anymore. Until you’ve had to leave so many behind that you no longer remember what it is you’re missing.”

“No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. Comforter, where, where is your comforting? Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief- woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing — Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling- ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief'. O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep, Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.”