Θυμάρι

So long, and thanks for all the fish !

Brotherhood Of The Grape – John Fante

  • “I had to stay. Not from choice but duty. And so I turned away and walked home, searching myself for a burst of Christian exhilaration for having done the right thing, building up my reward in heaven.”
  • “The kitchen. La cucina, the true mother country, this warm cave of the good witch deep in the desolate land of loneliness, with pots of sweet potions bubling over the fire, a cavern of magic herbs, rosemary and thyme and sage and oregano, balm of lotus that brought sanity to lunatics, peace to the troubled, joy to the joyless, this small twenty-by-twenty world, the altar a kitchen range, the magic circle  a checkered tablecloth where the children fed, the old children, lured back to their beginings, the taste of mother’s milk still haunting their memories, fragrance in their nostrils, eyes brightening, the wicked world receding as the old mother witch sheltered her brood from the wolves outside.”
  • “I must have died bravely and quietly, for I did not remember lamentation and tears. First there was splintering pain in my lumbar region from swinging the sledge and then it was gone, it seemed to drift off into the forest, as did the other pains – my aching feet, my blistered palms, the throb in my kidneys – one by one they all vanished, and I felt the cesation of the nervous system. When I die again, I thought, and undoubtedly for the last time, I must remember to face it as I did that day in the mountains, succumbing to death as if she were my beloved, smiling as I took her into my arms.”
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