Speak, Memory

Tim Buckley: The River

I confess I do not believe in time. I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another.
Let visitors trip. And the highest enjoyment of timelessness---
in a landscape selected at random---is when I stand among rare butterflies. This is ecstasy, and behind the ecstasy is something else, which is hard to explain. It is like a momentary vacuum into which rushes all that I love. A sense of oneness with sun and stone. A thrill of gratitude to whom it may concern---to the contrapuntal genius of human fate or to tender ghosts humoring a lucky mortal.
--Vladimir Nabokov
Speak, Memory