tokarczuk-night

Then you realize: night gives the world back its natural, original appearance, without sugar-coating it; day is a flight of fancy, light a slight exception, an oversight, a disruption of the order. The world in fact is dark, almost black. Motionless and cold.

Thought:

“Hermit hoar, in solemn cell,
Wearing out life’s evening gray;
Smite thy bosom, sage, and tell,
Where is bliss, and which the way?

Thus I spake; and speaking sigh’d;
Scarce repress’d the starting tear;—
When the smiling sage reply’d—
Come, my lad, and drink some beer.”

Samuel Johnson | “Lines on Thomas Warton’s Poems”

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