you want to be the one
but you know you're someone else instead
you want to be the song
be the song that you hear in your head
it may fitly be compared to nothing, for it is deeper than any thing, and is as nothing with respect to all things, forasmuch as it is not comprehensible by any of them. and because it is nothing respectively, it is therefore free from all things, and is that only good, which a man cannot express or utter what it is, there being nothing to which it may be compared, to express it by.
one judges better certain facts and certain principles when one sees them outside of the framework in which they usually exist in our sight; the change in point of view sometimes terrifies the eyes!
music gives us ontological messages which non-musical
criticism is unable to contradict, though it may laugh at our
foolishness in minding them. there is a verge of the mind which
these things haunt; and whispers therefrom mingle with the
operations of our understanding, even as the waters of the
infinite ocean send their waves to break among the pebbles that
lie upon our shores.
she bent forward, speaking eagerly; he leaned back, listening, with the depreciatory smile which acted as a filter to flattery, enabling him to swallow the strongest doses without apparent grossness of appetite. julia winced at her own definition of the smile.
"mamma, the big ant was trying to kill the little one."
"and so you protected the little one."
"yes, manure, because he had no friend, and i wouldn't let the big one kill him."
"but you have killed them both."
no matter how often her masquerading government changes costumes, that costume is merely her device to conceal the same cunning, treacherous wild beast that in 1914, after forty years of preparation, sprang at the throat of the world. of all the nations in the late war, she alone is pulling herself together. she is hard at work. she means to spring again just as soon as she can.