raise the hopes of endless night

I cannot sleep, and this is what I am drawn to moved to the point of tears in my eyes,
after listening to Lorraine Hunt Lieberson's Mahler a few days ago.

I was researching like a mad-man for a presentation today,
and the one word that stuck with me out of all of my reading
was the Hungarian word, facsar,
meaning the bitter feeling in one's nose when on the verge of tears.

Forget running away to join a circus--
I would run away to become a singer in a period ensemble if I could sing like this.
In a heartbeat.
No question.

(I know I have shared it before, but I cannot get enough of it.)