Why does the evening, does the night, put warmer love in our hearts?
Is it the nightly pressure of helplessness? Or is it the exalting
separation from the turmoils of life, that veiling of the world in
which for the soul nothing there remains but souls? It is therefore
that the letters in which the loved name stands written in our spirit
appears like phosphorous writing by night, in fire, while by day,
in their cloudy traces, they but smoke?
-- Richter
Is it the nightly pressure of helplessness? Or is it the exalting
separation from the turmoils of life, that veiling of the world in
which for the soul nothing there remains but souls? It is therefore
that the letters in which the loved name stands written in our spirit
appears like phosphorous writing by night, in fire, while by day,
in their cloudy traces, they but smoke?
-- Richter
Related:
- The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun.
The brightness of our life is gone, shadows of the... - saga n.
[WPI] A cuspy but bogus raving story about N
random broken people.
Here is a classic example of the saga form, as told... - Yet man dies not while the world, at once his mother and his monument,
remains. His name is forgotten, indeed, but the breath... - While man is growing, life is in decrease;
And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb.
Our birth is nothing but our death begun. -- Edward... - There are souls which fall from heaven like flowers,
but ere they bloom are crushed under the foul tread... - Even if we put all these nagging thoughts [four embarrassing questions about
astrology] aside for a moment,
one overriding question remains to be asked. Why would... - In later life, as in earlier, only a few persons influence the formation
of our character;
the multitude pass us by like a distant army. One... - The commercial prostitution of love is the last outcome of our whole
social system,
and its most clear condemnation. It flaunts in our... - That which does not kill us powers up our
weapons...
