no telling
no saying things that happen
no naming them
is a way, we think, to erase them.

The illusion man keeps of bringing out existence by spoken word
works inversely too

THING of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.	5
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomys,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways	10
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. endymion...Keats