From Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale

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



Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Pictures!

They are a bit... random... but if you ask me about them, i'll tell you a story!

One of these pictures is from our anniversary.






Also see the others in my photostream





4 comments:

Yamaha Drummer said...

I see no pictures... Have a good day!

Ruth said...

Sadness! They're not showing up for me either! You look HOT in the new one on the right. But then you're just naturally beautiful.

Janika said...

There is something stunning about that new pic. I clicked on the bars and was able to see them. The roses look better fresh. Have fun making the potpourri.

Yamaha Drummer said...

Hey, That's MY baby! and I hope that was Ruth posting, and not Robert, or he is in trouble!!! J/K You are always very photogenic... I hate you... ;-)