Nothing moves except my eyes and my hand occasionally turning a page, and yet something not exactly defined by the word "text" unfurls, progresses, grows and takes root as I read. But how does this process take place?
Wounded vanity knows when it is mortally hurt; and limps off the field, piteous, all disguises thrown away. But pride carries its banner to the last; and fast as it is driven from one field unfurls it in another, never admitting that there is a shade less honor in the second field than in the first, or in the third than in the second.
But for us the road unfurls itself, we don't stop walking, we know there is far to go.
Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it; sense it - tremulous and tender. Turn your face away from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light - and listen to the music of the night !