“The Furies are at home in the mirror; it is their
address. Even the clearest water, if deep enough can drown. Never think
to surprise them. Your face approaching ever so friendly is the white
flag they ignore. There is no truce with the Furies. A mirror’s
temperature is always at zero. It is ice in the veins, its camera is an
x-ray. It is a chalice held out to you in silent communion, where
gaspingly you partake of a shifting identity never your own”
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'Reflections' by R.S Thomas |
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