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
4 comments:
It had a severe "impact" on the view. Jeez, tomitron, don't use "impacted" like a verb.
Please?
Thanx.
Christine A. on Monday!!
b.
Nonetheless, the pie looks yummy!
b
would that be christine aguilera? is that what she's going by now? get me an autograph!
ooo...English critics...
I'm sure Tomitron can ignore, but personally guess I better not risk any more comments here...
what kind of pie was it? (past tense, it surely wouldn't have lasted long...)
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