Started reading Near to the Wild Heart yesterday after a long day walking around the peaks. I can feel my lifeblood being restored.
“She felt like a dry branch, sticking out of the air. Brittle, covered in old bark. Maybe she was thirsty, but there was no water nearby. And above all the suffocating certainty that if a man were to embrace her at that moment she would feel not a soft sweetness in her nerves, but lime juice stinging them, her body like wood near fire, warped, crackling, dry.”
― Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart