⬥ Lisa Toth Salinas ⬥

ALT Therefore Nothing exists that is not marred; therefore we are obliged to imagine how thing might be: the sea at its green uttermost, the shore white to exaggeration, white before it was checked and clouded by its spent debris. Nothing exists that does not end, and so to knowledge we must deliberately be untrue: you murmuring that you will not go, when you will go, promising to do always what you cannot do: hold the sun steady, and the sky new. No one exists who be loved the same by day as by dark; it is that sleeping place, lame, we attempt to follow into, and cannot trace, that makes us lie, saying we know his face, as if we knew even half of his true name.