MIND: Vice

So I withdrew to the farthest corner of my little room, sat on the floor, squeezed myself in between two walls, my head bowed. Yes. And sat there. Absolutely still. My heart was once again frozen and would not melt; every outlet was blocked and my brain squeezed by a large vice. And what I am waiting for whenever I sit huddled up like that is for something to give, for something to start flowing inside me.

Letters from Westerbork // Etty Hillesum

MIND: Retire

If ever I am independent, I will instantly retire to some solitude; I will see no one, not even you, and there I will live until the horrible disgust I feel at all that is human be somewhat removed by quiet and retirement. My heart is too full of hatred.

// Mary Shelley, from a letter to Marianne Hunt