“
the impossible that we are, impossible living creatures, impossibly alive, of whom neither the time of the body, nor the investment by space are any more to be retained than the shades of evening or the beloved faceSamuel Beckett
He has known us all and loved us all. Let us, on this
winter night, from cape to cape, from the tumultuous pole
to the castle, from the crowd to the beach, from glance to
glance, our strengths and feelings numb, learn to hail him
and see him, and send him back, and under the tides and at
the summit of snowy deserts, follow his seeing, his
breathing, his body, his day. -Arthur Rimbaud
