He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. [...] Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.
Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I. I will have you in my hoard, Marya Morevna, my black mirror.
Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless
Italo Calvino, Il barone rampante
“we are two reflections that cross swords with each other,”
Octavio Paz, Is There No Way Out? (tr. by Eliot Weinberger)
Anna Swir, A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry, “The Same Inside,” tr. by Czeslaw Milosz and Leonard Nathan
Tamer, Beautiful Crime
Last night I dreamt about you. What happened in detail I can hardly remember, all I know is that we kept merging into one another. I was you, you were me. Finally somehow you caught fire.
Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
Jean Genet, Our Lady of the Flowers (tr. by Bernard Frechtman)
Muse, Map of the Problematique
We love shadows of our hidden selves in others.
Anais Nin, The Four-Chambered Heart
Ilyas Abu Shabaka, Modern Arabic Poetry: An Anthology, “You or I?”, tr. by Adnan Haydar and Michael Beard