I am currently reading Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer. I came home to eat dinner after our meeting and I picked up the book and found my place and saw these words:
"I love everything that flows," said the great blind Milton of our times. I was thinking of him this morning when I awoke with a great bloody shout of joy: I was thinking of his rivers and trees and all that world of night which he is exploring. Yes, I said to myself, I too love everything that flows: rivers, sewers, lava, semen, blood, bile, words, sentences.