A JOURNAL OF EXTREMITY

William Shakespeare, "Richard II"

"The language I have learn’d these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo: And now my tongue’s use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony: Within my mouth you have engaol’d my tongue, Doubly portcullis’d with my teeth and lips; And dull unfeeling barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now: What is thy sentence then but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?"

Julian Barnes, "The Sense of an Ending"

Leonora Carrington, "Ulu's Pants"

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