“Narcissus does not fall in love with his reflection because it is beautiful, but because it is his. If it were his beauty that enthralled him, he would be set free in a few years by its fading.”—W. H. Auden
“Perhaps in the world’s destruction it would be possible at last to see how it was made. Oceans, mountains. The ponderous counterspectacle of things ceasing to be. The sweeping waste, hydroptic and coldly secular. The silence.”—Cormac McCarthy | The Road
imagine young kirk learning to run as fast as his little legs can take him. imagine him learning to differentiate between the footfalls of his mother and (step)father. imagine him using everything he learned from a mean old man with whiskey on his breath to survive on tarsus. imagine him laughing years down the road, because if nothing else, Frank taught him to survive ("you should be grateful, you little shit").
“I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms and I would hide my face in you, and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.”—Franz Kafka, The Castle (1926)