‘So for the meantime, it is going to continue to be the municipal bus with its grimy seats, its common passengers and impudent conductors… Jesus! She doesn’t wish herself dead or anything as stupidly final as that. Oh no. She just wishes she could sleep deep and only wake up on the morning of her glory.’

– Ama Ata Aidoo, Two Sisters


After a while I crossed out everything and began again, writing very quickly, like you do when you write: ‘You can’t possibly do this you simply don’t know what you’re doing if I were a dog you wouldn’t do this I love you I love you I love you but you’re just a god-damned rotter…’

– Jean Rhys, Voyage in the Dark


Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

– James Wright

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year’s horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.