"You must not reduce yourself to a puddle just because the person you like is afraid to swim and you are a fierce sea to them; because there will be someone who was born with love of the waves within their blood, and they will look at you with fear and respect."
So the church clock strikes midnight, and that’s fine - I should be getting used to it - because again, nothing… And then, oh all those years ago, they wrote everything down – amassed diaries, letters, journals, wild blackberry profusions of words, so that now we can know how forget-me-not blue her eyes were, how breathless her voice, how childish her gait – because of all that ardour, adoration. And what now? Pale indecision that strangles, and dallying that angers, faintness, quaking in the wake of some fierce love, yes, LOVE – for I’m tired of cowardice, of skirting around, of always being the one to pick the words – and no record, nothing… There is no chase; there is only waiting, wanting… There is only wanting words that will not come. And so poetry goes, lazily reclines, laughs with her sun-hat covering her eyes, and the fox does not visit again.
Austin Osman Spare (Born and died in London 1886 - 1956)
Artist, illustrator, writer, philosopher, animal lover and way before his time in many ways. Spare is pretty much the whole package, not only is he super handsome but apparently he was also known for his kindness and brilliance.
Spare wrote and illustrated several publications on occultism and magic and established a lot of the ground work for modern sigil and chaos magic.