[Poetry] may make us from time to time a little aware of the deeper unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
T.S.Eliot
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Gates of the Tall Town
Alleys, narrow lanes, old gates. Where history overlays, bricks over marbles, plasters of different ages. Surprisingly there's still someone who has time to sit on the doorsteps of an old palace and open a paper book.
No comments:
Post a Comment