This has nothing to do with books, but I can’t let Elizabeth Taylor’s passing go without comment.  When I was a little girl, I swore my Aunt Sandy was Lana Turner and Aunt Mary was Elizabeth Taylor.  They were that mesmerizing, that beautiful.

Still are.

Broken beauties.

I may have to watch A PLACE IN THE SUN this weekend (the scene below is a favorite).  And maybe WHO’S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF, too, where the passion and disease and dialogue between Elizabeth and Richard Burton is enough to knock you down.

Have a good weekend, everyone.

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