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1. black
2. grey
3. blue
4. red
5. brown
6. white

I am the queen of spades, I am the wasp that stings, I am the dark serpent. I am the invulnerable animal who passes through fire and is not burned.

Elena Ferrante

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QueenSpadeStingWsp

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  In order not to cut out a large part of one’s private life, the creative work should not swallow up every other form of self-expression. But that is the most complicated thing.

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  I didn’t choose anonymity.Instead, I chose absence.

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  As a girl – twelve, thirteen years old – I was absolutely certain that a good book had to have a man as its hero, and that depressed me.

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  We lie in order to tolerate our existence and, most of all, we lie to ourselves.

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  The circle of an empty day is brutal and at night it tightens around your neck like a noose

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  A calendar, you have to calculate how much time has passed between you and the facts, the emotions to be narrated.

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  He was going through one of those moments that you read about in books, when a character reacts in an unexpectedly extreme way to the normal discontents of living.

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  I no longer protect myself from the world I grew up in. Rather, today I try to protect the feelings I have for that world, the emotional space where my desire to write first took hold, and still grows.

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  Writers, because they write, are condemned never to be readers of their own stories…The memory of first putting a story into words will always prevent writers from reading their work as an ordinary reader would.

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  Competition between women is good only if it does not prevail; that is to say if it coexists with affinity, affection, with a real sense of being mutually indispensable, with sudden peaks of solidarity in spite of envy, jealousy and the whole inevitable cohort of bad feelings.

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  I believe that books, once they are written, have no need of their authors.

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  The fictional treatment of biographical material – a treatment that for me is essential – is full of traps.

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  Writing for me is a dragnet that carries everything away with it: expressions and figures of speech, postures, feelings, thoughts, troubles. In short, the lives of others.

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  At most, I may write when I am disturbed by something. I have recently discovered the pleasure of finding written answers to written questions.

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  It’s the people who love us or hate us – or both – who hold together the thousands of fragments we are made of.

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