People disappear when they die. Their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living mempry of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continut to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humour, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.
--Diane Setterfield
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Pictures!!
Pictures of Day two... again I took one picture as I rolled out of bed and others after I had brushed my hair etc.
Pretty sick. You look better on camera even than you did at my house. Maybe that is because you showed your "I'm miserable" expressions when you weren't posing for the camera.
1 comment:
Pretty sick. You look better on camera even than you did at my house. Maybe that is because you showed your "I'm miserable" expressions when you weren't posing for the camera.
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