even though they are dead

“People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath.
Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases.
This is both dreadful and natural.
Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation.
For in the books they write they continue to exist.
We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods.
Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy.
They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you.
All this, even though they are dead.
Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in the ice,
that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved.
It is a kind of magic.”
― Diane SetterfieldThe Thirteenth Tale


Published by VIKTORIA JEAN

"Do you see the story? Do you see anything?... It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream - making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream sensation... No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence - that which makes its truth, its meaning - its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream - alone." Marlow in Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad.

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