ᚩ ᛭ ᛉ ᛭ ᛟ

“The dead do not need aspens to whisper to them, nor the sea to break on the shore; they know all that is to come.”

Unicorn by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Don Paterson

“I wondered why my husband couldn’t have just been all bad. Why couldn’t he have been a cartoon villain, someone I could have fled from and known I had made the right decision? Why must there be nice memories of him sitting beside the ugly ones, both of them oblivious, strangers on a bus?”

Bartender! My usual

There was something about Christmas Eve, they both felt, that demanded company; one needed somebody to whisper to, during the warm beautiful dream-taut moments between hanging the empty stocking at the end of the bed, and dropping into the cosy oblivion that would flower into the marvel of Christmas morning.

The smell of violets, hidden in the green, Pour’d back into my empty soul and frame The times when I remember to have been Joyful and free from blame.

“I remember my childhood as a long wish to be elsewhere.”

“It is good people who make good places.”

He remembered how, a boy, he had dreamed of love of an adorable and ineffable mystery which transcended all longing and desire. The time had come when all the wonder of the earth seemed to prefigure this alone, when he found the symbol of the Beloved in hill and wood and stream, and every flower and every dark pool discoursed a pure ecstasy. It was the longing for longing, the love of love, that had come to him when he awoke one morning just before the dawn, and for the first time felt the sharp thrill of passion.

Hope is like a road in the country; there was never a road, but when many people walk on it, the road comes into existence.