I’m a sucker for the healing power you can mine in bleak hopelessness. There’s something that happens in the depressed arts where it can wash over you, resonating in harmony with your own sadness, and soothe it away for a while.
I’m a sucker for the healing power you can mine in bleak hopelessness. There’s something that happens in the depressed arts where it can wash over you, resonating in harmony with your own sadness, and soothe it away for a while.
“Born I was to meet with age,
And to talk life’s pilgrimage,
Much, I know, of time is spent,
Tell I can’t what’s resident.
Howsoever, cares, adieu;
I’ll have nought to say to you.
But I’ll spend my coming hours
Drinking wine, and crown’d with flowers.”
Robert Herrick | “On Himself”