Flee, Be Silent, Rest

“The death of the self of which the great writers speak is no violent act. It is merely the joining of the great rock heart of the earth in its roll. It is merely the slow cessation of the will’s sprints and the intellect’s chatter: it is waiting like a hollow bell with still tongue. Fuge, tace, quiesce. The waiting itself is the thing.” ~ Annie Dillard

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