С тех пор, как первый человеческий глаз увидел лист в Девонском песчанике, и озадаченный палец достиг его, чтобы прикоснуться к нему, грусть лежала над сердцем человека. By this tenuous thread of living protoplasm, stretching backward into time, we are linked forever to lost beaches whose sands have long since hardened into stone. The stars that caught our blind amphibian stare have shifted far or vanished in their courses, but still that naked, glistening thread winds onward. Никто не знает секрета своего начала или его конца. Его формы - фантомы. Одна нить реальна; Тема - это жизнь.
Every time we walk along a beach some ancient urge disturbs us so that we find ourselves shedding shoes and garments or scavenging among seaweed and whitened timbers like the homesick refugees of a long war.
Every time we walk along a beach some ancient urge disturbs us so that we find ourselves shedding shoes and garments or scavenging among seaweed and whitened timbers like the homesick refugees of a long war... Mostly the animals understand their roles, but man, by comparison, seems troubled by a message that, it is often said, he cannot quite remember or has gotten wrong... Bereft of instinct, he must search continually for meanings... Man was a reader before he became a writer, a reader о том, что Коулридж однажды назвал могущественным алфавитом вселенной.
