It's a joy to be hidden, but disaster not to be found.
DW Winnicott
par Paméla Ramos | 12 mars 2020 | Balades littéraires : critiques libres
All around us Hangs an air of darkest doom And it flows out my lungs And slowly fills the room I open up my heart And stick my fingers in But you will never want What I have to give Giles Corey, Blackest Bile À propos des 700 aveugles de Bafia, de Mutt-Lon « Le...It's a joy to be hidden, but disaster not to be found.
DW Winnicott