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But where do we find what's lasting? Where do the deathless things hide?
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Read for yourselves, read for the sake of your inspiration, for the sweet turmoil in your lovely head. But also read against yourselves, read for questioning and impotence, for despair and erudition... and also read those whose darkness or malice or madness or greatness you can't understand because only in this way will you grow, outlive yourself, and become what you are.
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In summer the empire of insects spreads.
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I drink from a small spring, my thirst excedes the ocean.
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Only in marriage do love and time, eternal enemies, join forces.
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But I was only a chaotic walker, nobody could stop me; even a totalitarian state was not able to control my daydreams, my poetic fascinations, the pattern of my walking.
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A certain traveler who knew many continents was asked what he found most remarkable of all. He replied: the ubiquity of sparrows.
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Time takes life away and gives us memory, gold with flame, black with embers.
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Human life and objects and trees vibrate with mysterious meanings, which can be deciphered like cuneiform writing. There exists a meaning, hidden from day to day, but accessible in moments of greatest attentiveness, in those moments when consciousness loves the world.
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Once in a while it vanishes - in the sense that I become deaf to beauty for a week or two or three. This coming and going of the inner life - because this is what it is - is a curse and a blessing. I don't need to explain why it's a curse. A blessing because it brings about a movement, an energy which, when it peaks, creates a poem. Or a moment of happiness.