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Beauty is terror. We want to be devoured by it, to hide ourselves in that fire which refines us.”
“Deprendi miserum est,”
Nihil sub sole novum, I thought as I walked back down the hall to my room. Any action, in the fullness of time, sinks to nothingness.
“There is nothing wrong with the love of Beauty. But Beauty—unless she is wed to something more meaningful—is always superficial.
Beauty is harsh.
What are the dead, anyway, but waves and energy? Light shining from a dead star?
The dead appear to us in dreams, said Julian, because that’s the only way they can make us see them; what we see is only a projection, beamed from a great distance, light shining at us from a dead star …
