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Existence will not stop until it gets to beauty.
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Now every mortal has pain and sweat is constant, but if there is anything dearer than being alive, it's dark to me. We humans seem disastrously in love with this thing (whatever it is) that glitters on the earth-- we call it life. We know no other. The underworld's a blank and all the rest just fantasy.
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Could you visit me in dreams? That would cheer me. Sweet to see friends in the night, however short the time.
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No need to fear death. There will be a tunnel and light.
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Sometimes a journey makes itself necessary.
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It is easier to tell a story of how people wound one another than of what binds them together.
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Myths are stories about people who become too big for their lives temporarily, so that they crash into other lives or brush against gods. In crisis their souls are visible.
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Sometimes I dream a sentence and write it down. It’s usually nonsense, but sometimes it seems a key to another world.
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Poetry - poiesis means a thing made.
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Give me a world, you have taken the world I was.
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What makes life life and not a simple story? Jagged bits moving never still, all along the wall.
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That night we made love "the real way" which we had not yet attempted although married six months. Big mystery. No one knew where to put their leg and to this day I'm not sure we got it right. He seemed happy. You're like Venice he said beautifully. Early next day I wrote a short talk "On Defloration" which he stole and had published in a small quarterly magazine. Overall this was a characteristic interaction between us. Or should I say ideal. Neither of us had ever seen Venice.
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Philosophy - hopeless. Yet it gives me hope.
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A refugee population is hungry for language and aware that anything can happen.