anonymous-poet

January 30, 2025

ยท

Pride is his pity, artifice his praise
A mask his virtue, and his fame a blaze;
Insult his charity, his friendship fear,
And nothing but his vanity, sincere.

Thought:

“The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.”

Samuel Beckett | Murphy

Christian Molenaar

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  • Souvenir
  • Yeah, There Was Always Going to Be a June 5, 1968
  • Dogs Are All the Time Licking My Hand
  • Should He Remember?
  • Blooming