“I have a nausea,” said Sancho Panza, “and I believe I must write a book.” “I can think of no nausea so potent as to fit thee to write a book,” said Don Quixote, “and, since thou art my squire, … Continue reading
“I have a nausea,” said Sancho Panza, “and I believe I must write a book.” “I can think of no nausea so potent as to fit thee to write a book,” said Don Quixote, “and, since thou art my squire, … Continue reading
Born out of dust, of dust’s consistency, You start, from the immensity of night, A wisp of fluttering transparency, Glorious with willingness, this final flight.
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