Words fail, there are times when even they fail.
Over, over, there is a soft place in my heart for all that is over, no, for the being over, words have been my only loves, not many.
It's a lot to ask of one creature, it's a lot to ask, that he should first behave as if he were not, then as if he were, before being admitted to that peace where he neither is, nor is not, and where the language dies that permits of such expressions.
Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.
Name, no, nothing is nameable, tell, no, nothing can be told, what then, I don't know, I shouldn't have begun.
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