Back to the brief summer post idea.
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Perhaps, I thought, while her words still hung in the air between us like a wisp of tobacco smoke—a thought to fade and vanish like smoke without a trace—perhaps all our loves are merely hints and symbols; a hill of many invisible crests; doors that open as in a dream to reveal only a further stretch of carpet and another door; perhaps you and I are types and this sadness which sometimes falls between us springs from disappointment in our search, each straining through and beyond the other, snatching a glimpse now and then of the shadow which turns the corner always a pace or two ahead of us. - Evelyn Waugh
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In the same vein, it’s not so much the pretty girl whom catches your eye as Beautiful Woman—or perhaps more accurately, Beauty itself. Loving mountains, I find myself actually wishing for Glory. Likewise, I may pause and smile at the first crocuses in April, but what’s really getting me is Spring. Without ever really knowing it, I'm wishing for the day when the archetypes become tangible and we take our places among them.
Specificity is a mask for our deeper longings.
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