Whenever we like it or not we're
servants of the hour and its colours, and shapes, we're subjects of
the sky and earth. Even these who delve only in themselves,
disdaining what surrounds them, delve by different paths when it
rains and when it's clear. Obscure transmutations, perhaps felt only
in the depths of abstract feelings, occur because it rains or stops
raining. They're felt without our feeling them because the weather we
didn't feel made itself felt.
Fernando Pessoa
The Book of Disquiet
translation: Richard Zenith
p. 327
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