There is no place like it, no place with an atom of its glory, pride and exultancy. It lays its hand upon a man’s bowels; he grows drunk with ecstasy; he grows young and full of glory, he feels that he can never die.
― Walt Whitman (The Brooklyn Eagle, c1847)
How much better is silence; the coffee-cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee-cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.
– Virginia Woolf, The Waves
Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.
― W.H. Auden, September 1, 1939
I once saw a sunset like that, over the lake near the old tanning factory back home. It was winter and I was going back for Christmas break. I remember the light flashing through the trees woke me up, and I pressed my face against the window just before the bus turned away onto the overpass.
Click through to view monochrome version.
Click through to view color version.
And then I was lost in an electric dream.
Wherever you go, you take yourself with you.
― Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book
Translation: don’t forget your smart phone…