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“Yes, there was depth in her. But no one would find a thing if they descended into her depths—except depth itself, as in the dark you find the dark.”

Dreams are poetry in motion; intuition is their language.

You mad pretentious but its cool

'Immediate enjoyment’ is not capable of experiencing beauty because the beauty of a thing appears ‘only much later’, in the light of another thing, or even through the significance of a reminiscence. Beauty is owed to duration, to a contemplative synopsis. It is not a momentous brilliance or attraction, but an afterglow, a phosphorescence of things. The ‘cinematograph film of … things’ does not have the temporality of beauty. The age of haste, its cinematographic succession of point-like presences, has no access to beauty or to truth. Only in lingering contemplation, even an ascetic restraint, do things unveil their beauty, their fragrant essence. It consists of temporal sedimentations emitting a phosphorescent glow.