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February 12, 2025

ยท

No more desire flayeth me,
No more for us the trembling
At the meeting of hands.

Lo the fair dead!

Thought:

“To-morrow you will live, you always cry;
In what far country does this morrow lie,
That ’tis so mighty long ere it arrive?
Beyond the Indies does this morrow live?

‘Tis so far fetch’d this morrow, that I fear
‘Twill be both very old and very dear.
To-morrow I will live, the fool does say;
To0-day itself’s too late, the wise liv’d yesterday.”

Abraham Cowley | After the Latin of Martial

Christian Molenaar

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  • Souvenir
  • Yeah, There Was Always Going to Be a June 5, 1968
  • Dogs Are All the Time Licking My Hand
  • Should He Remember?
  • Blooming