Things are not all so comprehensible and expressible as one would mostly have us believe; most events are inexpressible, taking place in a realm which no word has ever entered, and more inexpressible than all else are works of art, myterious existences, the life of which, while ours passes away, endures.
Letters to a Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke
05:18 pm ~ marblefeet1 note

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