Time is the moving image of eternity

There is nothing worse than a sharp image of a fuzzy concept

The poet is, etymologically, the maker

I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens its eyes on the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its eyes again

But in fact the glorious beings which they had produced were tortured by subtle imperfections beyond their makers’ comprehension
— No one in particular
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