"I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;/
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams...“ W.B. Yeats.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
How strange man is!
“Dreams, memories, the sacred— they are all alike in that they are beyond our grasp. Once we are even marginally separated from what we can touch, the object is sanctified; it acquires the beauty of the unattainable, the quality of the miraculous. Everything, really, has this quality of sacredness, but we can desecrate it at a touch. How strange man is! His touch defiles and yet he contains the source of miracles.”