(photos by me, of my room)
"It sounded like a welcome already overshadowed with the coming farewell. As in all sweetest music, a tinge of sadness was in every note. Nor do we know how much of the pleasures even of life we owe to the intermingled sorrows. Joy cannot unfold the deepest truths, although deepest truth must be the deepest joy. Cometh white-robed Sorrow, stooping and wan, and flingeth wide doors she may not enter. Almost we linger with Sorrow for very love."
"A kind of love to the cheerful little stream arose in my heart. It was born in the desert; but it seemed to say to itself, "I will flow, and sing, and love my banks, till I make my desert a paradise." "
Both from Phantastes, by George McDonald. A queer, and deeply beautiful book.
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