tennyson-forget-me-not

So sing that other song I made,
Half anger’d with my happy lot,
The day, when in the chestnut shade
I found the blue Forget-me-not.

Thought:

“It is unusual for a writer whose oeuvre is powerful, and therefore destabilizing for the reader, to be recognized. This is part of the destiny of writing. You must wait.”

Hélène Cixous

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