Ah, it is the fate of the romantics, whoever they are, to go up in flames, one way or another :) "and even if [an angel] suddenly pressed me against his heart / I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence." I'm sorry about the excessive intensity ... I'll go for 'boat under a moonlit lake' kind of atmosphere next time, if at all possible ...
Rilke: "Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies? and even if one of them pressed me against his heart: I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence. For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we still are just able to endure, and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us. Every angel is terrifying."
This is not settled. You’re like “a fresh breath of orange blossom scented air”. And I’m an object (whose actual name/identity doesn’t matter), who was in an “I-it” Martin Buber-type of relationship with you. Now, the “matter” is settled. Happy Birthday!
6 comments:
Reserved
As a white phosphorus match
eluding a gunpowder reservoir
Ah, it is the fate of the romantics, whoever they are, to go up in flames, one way or another :) "and even if [an angel] suddenly pressed me against his heart / I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence." I'm sorry about the excessive intensity ... I'll go for 'boat under a moonlit lake' kind of atmosphere next time, if at all possible ...
Rilke:
"Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies?
and even if one of them pressed me against his heart: I would be consumed
in that overwhelming existence.
For beauty is nothing
but the beginning of terror, which we still are just able to endure, and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us. Every angel is terrifying."
Yes. Rilke: "every angle is terrifying."
John Nash: "I'm Terrified...Mortified...petrified...stupefied...by you." I say: "Cosette is cool!"
Cool as a cucumber :) And so is Shamim! We have settled the matter. I'll see you around!
This is not settled. You’re like “a fresh breath of orange blossom scented air”. And I’m an object (whose actual name/identity doesn’t matter), who was in an “I-it” Martin Buber-type of relationship with you. Now, the “matter” is settled. Happy Birthday!
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