The author's conviction on this day of New Year is that music begins to atrophy when it departs too far from the dance; that poetry begins to atrophy when it gets too far from music; but this must not be taken as implying that all good music is dance music or all poetry lyric. Bach and Mozart are never too far from physical movement.
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The more familiar two people become, the more the language they speak together departs from that of the ordinary, dictionary-defined discourse. Familiarity creates a new language, an in-house language of intimacy that carries reference to the story the two lovers are weaving together and that cannot be readily understood by others.
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He is not dead who departs from life with a high and noble fame; but he is dead, even while living, whose brow is branded with infamy.
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Love is the language of hearts Even cardiologists fail to know how it starts When a loved one for a while departs The other is striking darts into others hearts
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The true past departs not, no truth or goodness realized by man ever dies, or can die; but all is still here, and, recognized or not, lives and works through endless change.
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Nothing that was worthy in the past departs; no truth or goodness realized by man ever dies, or can die.
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Nothing that was worthy in the past departs no truth or goodness realized by man ever dies, or can die.
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