Posted by tomitron at 3/17/2018 08:27:00 PM
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:
I remember bonsai shows at the Chicago Botanical Garden when I worked there as a security guard. That was probably the best job I ever had in terms of shear enjoyment. I got paid to walk around and drive around on a golf cart. It was a large park with a lake with lots of trails, some of which only I knew about, so I would drive my cart all over the place. Good times...
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