domingo, setembro 29, 2013

The Last Word

[Anka Zhuravleva]

“I am a part of all that I have met;
All experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little”

– from Tennyson’s Ulysses

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