#the mystic

The universe is nothing but what my dreams weave. …/The threads dissolve, and I see myself in the void of

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That darkness was pure, perfect, thoughtless, visionless; that darkness was without end, without borders; that darkness was

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such genius of colour. shape of bay. headland the dark moors of the mountain ranges. a door opening in the sky

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…I only think about today, for me there is no tomorrow, for me there is no future, because every day is the last day, and

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What I write you has no beginning: it’s a continuation. From the words of this song, a song that’s mine and yours, there

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I am a new rose. My redness, wild hallucinations–

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…and with this heart he looked at the landscape, and he looks at it now too, and it is with this heart that he sees now

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Generally I do not believe in dates, things flow into each other and grow out from each other, the whole thing proceeds

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he watched and he listened, he asked nothing of anyone, and no one asked anything of him, the silence within him

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What do you suppose creation is? […] / What do you suppose I would intimate to you in a hundred ways, but that man or woman

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She spoke the speech of poplar trees—

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And I myself for long, O Death, have breath’d my every breath / Amid the nearness and the silent thought of thee.

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Give me to hold all sounds […] Fill me with all the voices of the universe.

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