Each of us is all the sums he has not counted: subtract us into nakedness and night again, and you shall see begin in Crete four thousand years ago the love that ended yesterday in Texas.
The seed of our destruction will blossom in the desert, the alexin of our cure grows by a mountain rock, and our lives are haunted by a Georgia slattern, because a London cutpurse went unhung. Each moment is the fruit of forty thousand years. The minute-winning days, like flies, buzz home to death, and every moment is a window on all time.
john northbrooke, c. 1570
1 comment:
Wow. You went to town on that blog Tomitron.
How funny. I had to eggscape my parents house this weekend and I did an hour of YouTube at the public liberry. I watched that cat flush the toilet over and over.
Maybe you can train your dog to shit off your balcony?
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