Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.
Gustave FlaubertAnd he beholds the moon; like a rounded fragment of ice filled with motionless light.
Gustave FlaubertLove is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.
Gustave FlaubertAnd he beholds the moon; like a rounded fragment of ice filled with motionless light.
Gustave Flaubert