This bleak, rusty machine we call life.

“There is a word in Japanese, yugen, that has no English equivalent. In Japanese, it is the awareness that the universe transmits a profound and mysterious beauty that can only be understood by the man or woman engaged in the comparable beauty of human suffering. (…) This bleak, rusty machine we call life. This unexpected beauty.”

[R. Malfi, Come with me]

I died for beauty (Emily Dickinson)

Nebel, Tannen, Waldweg, Schnee, Winter, DüsterkeitI died for Beauty – but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining Room –

He questioned softly “Why I failed”?
“For Beauty”, I replied –
“And I – for Truth – Themself are One –
We Brethren are”, He said –

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night —
We talked between the Rooms –
Until the Moss had reached our lips –
And covered up – Our names –

[Emily Dickinson]


“The poem weighs idealism against the stark reality of death, emphasizing that death is far more permanent than the ideals people die for.” (LitCharts.com)

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