When I go away from you. The world beats dead. Like a slackened drum. I call out for you against the jutted stars. And shout into the ridges of the wind. Streets coming fast, One after the other, Wedge you away from me, And the lamps of the city prick my eyes. So that I can no longer see your face. Why should I leave you, To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?
Amy LowellAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: February 9, 1874
- Died: May 12, 1925
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What if he could see this, his own skull, yellow and eroded? Two centuries old. Would he still speak? Would he speak, if he could see it, the grinning, aged skull? What would there be for him to say, to tell the people? What message could he bring?
What action would not be futile, when a man could look upon his own aged, yellowed skull?
Philip K. Dick
It is always what I have already said: always the wish that you may find patience enough in yourself to endure, and simplicity enough to believe; that you may acquire more and more confidence in that which is difficult, and in your solitude among others. And for the rest, let life happen to you. Believe me: life is right, in any case.
Rainer Maria Rilke