“The book is yours, though the pen belonged to me; and in that vanishing act, beauty finds its peak: the writer disappears, but you remains immortal in repetition, in invocation, in the endless echo of your name.....”
“The book is yours, though the pen belonged to me; and in that vanishing act, beauty finds its peak: the writer disappears, but you remains immortal in repetition, in invocation, in the endless echo of your name.....”