Go, silly worm, drudge, trudge, and travel,
Despising pain,
So thou may’st gain
Some honour, or some golden gravel:
But Death the while (to fill his number)
With sudden call
Takes thee from all,
To prove thy days but dream and slumber.
Go, silly worm, drudge, trudge, and travel,
Despising pain,
So thou may’st gain
Some honour, or some golden gravel:
But Death the while (to fill his number)
With sudden call
Takes thee from all,
To prove thy days but dream and slumber.
“Words don’t change their shape, they change their meaning, their function… They don’t have a meaning of their own any more, they refer to other words that you don’t know, that you’ve never read or heard… you’ve never seen their shape, but you feel… you suspect… they correspond to… an empty space inside you… or in the universe…”
Marguerite Duras