...But existence can still enchant us' in a hundred places, we find its wells and springs. A play of pure forces that no one can touch without wanting to kneel in wonder... The machine: as long as it obeys, and dares to exist in the spirit, it threatens all we’ve won. Against the fine shows of the hand those sweet hesitations it cuts the harsh building’s stones to be even more severe. It never stays back where for once we could just leave behind, oiling itself shut in the factory. It is life- it thinks it does everything best, with the same calm resolve to regulate, make and destroy. But existence can still enchant us; in a hundred places, we find its wells and springs. A play of pure forces that no one can touch without wanting to kneel in wonder. Words still fail before the unsayable… And music, always new, builds in unusable space and out of the shakiest stones, her holiest house. --Rilke--
An entire world of color and meaning and desire is constantly wiggling within the break in the mind, requiring only the proper blank white spot on which to pur itself.
Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands. I will not allow books to prove anything." Jane Austen, Persuasion
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