Music: breathing of statues. Perhaps: silence of paintings. You language where all language ends. You time standing vertically on the motion of mortal hearts.
Rainer Maria RilkeWe are the bees of the invisible. We madly gather the honey of the visible to store it in the great golden hive of the invisible.
Rainer Maria RilkeMay I strike my heart's keys clearly, and may none fail because of slack, uncertain, or fraying strings. May the tears that stream down my face make me more radiant: may my hidden weeping bloom.... How we waste our afflictions!... [T]hey're really our wintering foliage, our dark greens of meaning, one of the seasons of the clandestine yearโ; not only a seasonโ: they're site, settlement, shelter, soil, abode.
Rainer Maria Rilke