„This was one of the least accomodating places to which I had ever come. The sea, the stone, the night and the weather all pursued their processes and kept their habits, as they had done for millenia, and would do for millenia to follow... this was a terrain that had been thrown up by fire and survived ice. There was nothing... Nothing human. I turned east and south, straining to see if there was any flicker of light in the hundreds of miles of darkness around me... Nothing. No glimmer."
„There could have been nowhere that conformed more purely to the vision of wildness with which I had begun my journeys... But now I could not wait to leave it.
The comfortless snow-shires, the frozen rocks: this place was not hostile to my presence, far from it. Just entirely, gradelessly indifferent. – This place refused any imputation of meaning.”
(Robert MacFarlane: The Wild Places)
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Schön.
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Sie machen mal wieder Lust auf mehr.
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Ebenso an den pathologen, dem ich in Aussicht stellen kann: There is more to come.
Schließlich gibt es ja nicht nur ein Weltende, auch wenn jedes von ihnen, ob nun das Cabo de Finisterre in Galizien, Land's end in Cornwall oder das bretonische Département Finistère, gern einen Alleinanspruch darauf erhebt, am
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