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
2 comments:
No more McMansions? Sure, maybe in MA, but they are still crankin over here where the schools win awards. Lilly White, need I say. It's sick. The dude next door is a brain surgeon. He bought the 1.3-million house built on top of a former split-level. Nice kids, wife, SUV, mustache, etc...fuck...
b
....and what's so wrong with a mOustache?
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