–Memory’s distances, youth’s wishes, childhood’s dreams, the short joys of a whole long life and hopeless hopes come grey-clad, like evening mist after the sun has set. — Novalis, Hymns to the Night, trans. Dick Higgins (McPherson and Co., 1988)
When from our better selves we have too long Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop, Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, How gracious, how benign, is Solitude; — William Wordsworth, from “The Prelude.” Norton; 1st edition (1979) Originally published 1800.
Sometimes with the most intense pain a paralysis of sensibility occurs. The soul disintegrates–hence the deadly frost–the free power of the mind–the shattering, ceaseless wit of this kind of despair. There is no inclination for anything any more–the person is alone, like a baleful power–as he has no connection with the rest of the world… Continue reading Novalis