“The man who promises everything is sure to fulfil [sic] nothing, and everyone who promises too much is in danger of using evil means in order to carry out his promises, and is already on the road to perdition.
“The road to perdition has ever been accompanied by lip service to an ideal.
And now this, to express the other morning ponderers within…
“The early hours of morning; you still aren’t writing (rather, you aren’t even trying), you just read lazily. Everything is idle, quiet, full, as if it were a gift from the muse of sluggishness,
just as earlier, in childhood, on vacation, when a colored map was slowly scrutinized before a trip, a map promising so much, deep ponds in the forest like glittering butterfly eyes, mountain meadows drowning in sharp grass;
or the moment before sleep, when no dreams have appeared, but they whisper their approach from all parts of the world, their march, their pilgrimage, their vigil at the sickbed (grown sick of wakefulness), and the quickening among medieval figures
compressed in endless stasis over the cathedral; the early hours of morning, silence — you still aren’t writing,
you still understand so much. Joy is close.”
– Adam Zagajewski
Joy within, even in Perdition.