How beautiful the tragic seems when it is beneath a mask, but when it appears so nakedly before me and... when I am so forcibly implicated... I don't know whether I care for it so much. Somehow or other it is as though I were torturing myself. ("Thir...
I was washing outside in the darkness, the sky burning with rough stars, and the starlight, salt on an axe-blade. The cold overflows the barrel. The gate's locked, the land's grim as its conscience. I don't think they'll find the new weaving, finer t...
