The mother says to her daughter: The heart is an island. To reach it, You must cross salt water. This is what the daughter fears: That joy, like sorrow, Must be reached by shipwreck, Tossed on the flotsam of tears.

Fairytales are full of impossible tasks.

Nothing is more permanent than the temporary.

The bats inebriate the sky . . .

. . . Orpheus struck dumb with hindsight.