Sunday, April 20, 2008

Hermann Broch

"...waiting night after night on the threshold, blinded by the twilight at the rim of night and by the dusk at the world's edge, knowing as he did the experience of sleep, he had been lifted into immutability, and as he was taking shape there he was hurled back and aloft into the sphere of verse, into the inter-realm of wisdom and poetry, into the dream that is beyond dream and touches on rebirth, the goal of our flight, the song." -Hermann Broch from The Death of Virgil

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