“A fantastical world surrounds me and is me. I hear the mad song of a little bird and crush
butterflies between my fingers. I’m a fruit eaten away by a worm. And I await the orgasmic
apocalypse. A dissonant throng of insects surrounds me, light of an oil lamp that I am.
I then go too far in order to be. I’m in a trance. I penetrate the surrounding air.”
Clarice Lispector, The Stream of Life, 1973