If a man does not know the value of his own loneliness, how can he respect another’s solitude?
Franz Kafka and Felice Bauer
Kazuo Ishiguro, The Remains of the Day
A classic is a book that has never finished saying what it has to say.
As the hours crept by, the afternoon sunlight bleached all the books on the shelves to pale, gilded versions of themselves and warmed the paper and ink inside the covers so that the smell of unread words hung in the air.
"I don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains."
— from Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl
Solitude gives birth to the original in us, to beauty unfamiliar and perilous - to poetry. But it also gives birth to the opposite: to the perverse, the illicit, the absurd.
Edgar Allan Poe statue slated for October unveiling in Boston.