"But then it was time to go in and I turned my back resolutely
on the river and ascended the wide stone steps to the brick
terrace which fronted the house on the river side, pausing only to
break the stem of a white and pink peony, regretting immediately
what I had done: brutally, I had wished to possess the summer, to
fix the instant, to bear with me into the house a fragment of the
day. It was wrong; and I stood for a moment at the French door
holding the great peony in my hand, its odor like a dozen roses,
like all the summers I had ever known. But it was impractical. I
could not stuff it into my buttonhole for it was as large as a
baby's head, while I was fairly certain that my hostess would be
less than pleased to receive at my hands one of her best peonies,
cut too short even to place in water. Obscurely displeased with
myself and the day, I plunged the flower deep into a hedge of
boxwood until not even a glimmer of white showed through the dense
dark green to betray me. Then, like a murderer, the assaulted day
part-spoiling, I went inside."
Gore Vidal 1954
ur Messiah (finns översatt som Messias)
buttertaro rdetbuttertarorde butter tar ordet but tertarordet butter tar ordet tarordet butter tar ordet buttertarord etbuttertarordet butter tar ordet butter (Bilden är gjord av Franciszka Themerson)
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