On barren days,
At hours when I, apart, have
Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast,
Behold with music’s many-stringed charms
The silence groweth thou. O rare delight!
The melody upon clear strings inflected
Were dull when o’er taut sense thy presence floweth,
With quivering notes’ accord that never palleth.
Quote text
“What was civilization ever, really, but the attempt by man to talk himself into being good? Only good, mind you. The rest had to be shoved somewhere out of sight, under the rug. Which History indeed did, at times politely, at times police-ly, and yet something was always sticking out, breaking loose, overthrowing.”
Stanisław Lem