George Herbert

That flesh is but the glass, which holds the dust That measures all our time; which also shall Be crumbled into dust.

That flesh is but the glass, which holds the dust That measures all our time; which also shall Be crumbled into dust.

– George Herbert –

The Complete English Poems

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Gary Shteyngart

We know summer is the height of of being alive. We don’t believe in God or the prospect of an afterlife mostly, so we know that we’re only given eighty summers or so per lifetime, and each one has to be better then the last, has to encompass a trip to that arts center up at Bard, a seemingly mellow game of badminton over at some yahoo’s Vermont cottage, and a cool, wet, slightly dangerous kayak trip down an unforgiving river. Otherwise, how would you know that you have lived your summertime best? What is you missed out on some morsel of shaded nirvana?

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