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12 октября 2021 г., 16:48
Words form their own world; their links with that other world of the senses and of our own experience is at best a tenuous and uncertain one; the bond between word and object is as flimsy as a spider’s silk, and like beads of morning dew, these threads bear the burden of association, of unshared convention, of ambiguity. Words do not coagulate around objects so as to enclose and contain them, but suggest a perspective which is infinite and treacherous.
