“ The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them. ”
LearningTo believe you are magnificent. And gradually to discover that you are not magnificent. Enough labor for one human life.
~ Czesław Miłosz
In a room wherepeople unanimously maintaina conspiracy of silence,one word of truthsounds like a pistol shot.
You see how I tryTo reach with wordsWhat matters mostAnd how I fail.
Not soon, as late as the approach of my ninetieth year, I felt a door opening in me and I entered the clarity of early morning. One after another my former lives were departing, like ships, together with their sorrow. And the countries, cities, gardens, the bays of seas assigned to my brush came closer, ready now to be described better than they were before.
