Transparent things, through which the past shines
Vladimir Nabokov,
Transparent Things
, 1972
posted
30 August, 2010
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On the shore where Time casts up its stray wreckage, we gather corks and broken planks, whence much indeed may be argued and more guessed;
but what the great ship was that has gone down into the deep that we shall never see.
Anon
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