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“What is it? My dear?
Ah, how can we bear it?
This. For so short a time. How can we sleep this time away?
We can be quiet together, and pretend--since it is only the beginning--that we have all the time in the world.
And every day we shall have less. And then none.
Would you rather, therefore, have had nothing at all?
No. This is where I have always been coming to. Since my time began. And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run. But now, my love, we are here, and we are now, and those other times are running elsewhere.”
―
Ah, how can we bear it?
This. For so short a time. How can we sleep this time away?
We can be quiet together, and pretend--since it is only the beginning--that we have all the time in the world.
And every day we shall have less. And then none.
Would you rather, therefore, have had nothing at all?
No. This is where I have always been coming to. Since my time began. And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run. But now, my love, we are here, and we are now, and those other times are running elsewhere.”
―
“His forty-third year. His small time's end. His time—
Who saw Infinity through the countless cracks In the blank skin of things, and died of it.”
―
Who saw Infinity through the countless cracks In the blank skin of things, and died of it.”
―
