The concluded snowstorm of personal dread left me vaguely optimistic, as if tomorrow might be fair as a poem. In truth this was my religion: I jumped over imaginary brooks like a child.
Thinking of Evelyn Waugh
The concluded snowstorm of personal dread left me vaguely optimistic, as if tomorrow might be fair as a poem. In truth this was my religion: I jumped over imaginary brooks like a child.
Planet of the Blind 