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Donnerstag, 21. November 2013

I know the bottom, she says. 
I know it with my great tap root: 
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there.

Is it the sea you hear in me, 
Its dissatisfactions?
Or the voice of nothing, 
that was your madness?

Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it
Listen: these are its hooves:
 it has gone off, like a horse.

All night I shall gallop thus, impetuously,
Till your head is a stone, 
your pillow a little turf, 
Echoing, echoing.

(Sylvia Plath)

Au milieu de l'hiver, 
j'ai découvert en moi 
un invincible été.

(Albert Camus)