"For everything sacred has the substance of dreams and memories, and so we experience the miracle of what is separated from us by time or distance suddenly being made tangible. Dreams, memories, the sacred, they're all alike in that they are beyond our grasp. Once we are even marginally separated from what we can touch, the object is sanctified; it acquires the beauty of the unattainable, the quality of the miraculous. Everything, really, has this quality of sacredness, but we can desecrate it at a touch. How strange man is! His touch defiles and yet contains the source of miracles. Even when we're with someone we love, we're foolish enough to think of her body and soul as being separated. To stand before the person we love is not the same as loving as her true self, for we are only apt to regard her physical beauty as the indispensable mode of her existence. When time and space intervene, it's possible to be deceived by both, but on the other hand, it's equally possible to draw twice as close to her real self.
One must merge one form of darkness with another, and then wait for the darkness to be tinged with the rosiness of the fateful dawn to come. The path we're walking is not a road. It is a pier, and it ends someplace where the sea begins. "