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
3 comments:
thank you tommy. she means so much to us. just to see her life as you have written it, and look at her smiling face brings tears of joy.
what a woman.
what good fortune to have worked with her.
a
I remember her too...who could forget?
nice tribute...
loveC
I came across your blog while doing some research on historical Atlanta.
I didn't know Elva but, after reading your beautiful tribute to her, I feel like I do know her. Are you the same Tommy who worked with her at the Rhodes Theater?
Having someone cherish our memory in such a way as you have done for Elva is the best any of us can hope for when we leave here.
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