“My conceits will never serve to wake the dead. Art has no limit but that. You may come enchantingly close, and you may wither under the power of its lash, but you cannot bring back the dead. It’s as if God set loose the powers of art so that man could come so close to His precincts as almost to understand how He works, but in the end He closes the door in your face, and says, leave it to me. It’s as if the whole thing were just a lesson. To see the beauty of the world is to put your hands on lines that run uninterrupted through life and through death. Touching them is an act of hope, for
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