Epigraph
Aubade by Louis Macneice
Having bitten on life like a sharp apple
Or, playing it like a fish, been happy,
Having felt with fingers that the sky is blue
What have we after that to look forward to?
Not the twilight of the gods but a precise dawn
Of sallow and grey bricks, and newsboys crying war.
“We only begin to live when we conceive life as tragedy…”
W. B. Yeats
“Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past…”
James Joyce”