The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Monday, January 21, 2008

margarita 

"The  darkness  that came  from the Mediterranean Sea
covered the  city hated by the procurator. The hanging
bridges connecting the temple with the dread Antonia 
Tower disappeared  ... Yershalaim - the great city -
vanished as if it had never existed in the world...
So you, too, can just vanish away
along  with your  burnt notebook and dried-up  rose! 
Sit here on the  bench alone and entreat  him to set
you free,  to let you  breathe the  air, to go
from your memory!"

M.Bulgakov
Master and Margarita
Book 2.Chapter 19
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