It lay in the beauty,
in the beauty of the story
and in the beauty of the language
in which it is told.
The words of the deceased, even those who can only manage a murmur, carry more weight than those of the healthy.
But I will live In my terrible indifference showing my teeth my eyes shining.
Zen is a mountain that bites its own tail.
The Eye sails up the river of philosophy, the river of existence, the (fast flowing) river of fate.
More time is not eternity.
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