Things are not all so comprehensible and expressible as one would mostly have us believe; most events are inexpressible, taking place in a realm which no word has ever entered, and more inexpressible than all else are works of art, mysterious existences, the life of which, while ours passes away, endures.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet: February 17, 1903, trans. M. D. Herter Norton (via litverve)
