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half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers;
real gods require blood

of |
Yet when we came back, late, from the hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
— T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land  (via sempiternele)
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