“Each of us is all the sums he has not counted: subtract us into nakedness and night again, and you shall see begin in Crete 4,000 years ago, a love that ended yesterday in Texas . . . each moment is the fruit of forty thousand years. the minute winning days, like flies, buzz home to death, and every moment is a window on all time” (Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel 1929)
