When I write after dark the shades of evening scatter their purple through my prose.
Fallen leaves lying on the grass in the November sun bring more happiness than the daffodils.
Sheep with a nasty side.
Melancholy and remorse forms the deep leaden keel which enables us to sail into the wind of reality.
The only way for writers to meet is to share a quick peek over a common lamp-post.
Except for poverty, incompatibility, opposition of parents, absence of love on one side and of desire to marry on both, nothing stands in the way of our happy union.