“Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgundy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries.”
―Jack Kerouac, On the Road
“this autumn
why am I aging so?
to the clouds a bird”
―Matsuo Basho
“The rain fell like dead bullets.”
―Scott Nicholson
“Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.”
―Gustave Flaubert
