It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobbledstreets silent and the hunched courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea.
Dylan ThomasAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: welsh
- Born: October 27, 1914
- Died: November 9, 1953
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She looked at him, and oh, the weariness to her, of theeffort to understand another language, the weariness of hearinghim, attending to him, making out who he was, as he stood therefair-bearded and alien, looking at her. She knew something ofhim, of his eyes. But she could not grasp him. She closed hereyes.
David Herbert Lawrence
Mr. Elliot was rational, discreet, polished,? but he was not open. There was never any burst of feeling, any warmth of indignation or delight, at the evil or good of others. This, to Anne, was a decided imperfection. Her early impressions were incurable. She prized the frank, the open-hearted, the eager character beyond all others. Warmth and enthusiasm did captivate her still. She felt that she could so much more depend upon the sincerity of those who sometimes looked or said a careless or a...
Jane Austen
Even though I complain sometimes it's because I'm the heart of a person. People are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that they don't deserve them, or that they'll be unable to achieve them. We, their hearts, become fearful just thinking of loved ones who go away forever, or of moments that could have been good but weren't, or of treasures that might have been found but were forever hidden in the sands. Because, when these things happen, we suffer terribly.
Paulo Coelho
