"I am sitting here reading a poet. There are a great number of people
in the room but one doesn't notice them. They're inside the books.
Sometimes they move about in the pages like people turning over in their sleep between two dreams.
Ah, how good it is being among people who are reading.
Why aren't they always like this? You can go up to one of them and gently touch him: he doesn't feel a thing. And if,
when you stand up you bump against someone next to you and you apologise, he gives a nod towards where he hears your voice coming from, his face turns towards you and he doesn't see you, and his hair is like the hair of someone asleep. How good that feels. And I am sitting here and I have a poet. What a fate."
(The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, Rainer Maria Rilke )
follow the yellow brick road
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