As winter lingered he found that all that remained him were the certainties arising from the habit of not knowing.


He had once seen something quite beautiful, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t quite remember what it was. Nevertheless he was consoled by the fact that though whatever it might have been was now irretrievably lost at least its beauty lingered.


looking down he realized that the earth’s memory was but the earth. looking up he realized that the sky, in fact, had no memory. looking at himself, on the other hand, he simply forgot.


the sole heroic act that he imagined himself capable of would be to one day fade into oblivion as easily and readily as his shadow


with few exceptions, they preferred the luxuriant, the profuse, the fertile. yet seeing that they would often lose themselves within it, she had her ways to remind them of the essential.  


many found her vague or inapparent; yet she was anything but. whenever necessary she would supply the world as proof.