Bookish Fae

I glanced out the window at the signs of spring. The sky was almost blue, the trees were almost budding, the sun was almost bright.

I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.

Spring is the time of plans and projects.

It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.

He was a man of black and white. And she was colour. All the colour he had.

Some things are more precious because they don't last long.

"His voice is low and soft, a piece of silk you might keep in a drawer and pull out only on rare occasions, just to feel it between your fingers.''

"You know the greatest lesson of history? It's that history is whatever the victors say it is. That's the lesson. Whoever wins, that's who decides the history."

''We rise again in the grass. In the flowers. In songs.''