“When we were at the lodge, and you were dancing in the snow, I kept wondering why the snow wasn’t melting. You’re like spring. My spring.” — Ilona Andrews Copy Share Image
“Indicating his twisted legs without a trace of self-pity or bitterness, as if they belonged to all of us, he casts his arms wide to the sky and the snow mountains, the high sun and dancing sheep, and cries, ’Of… — Peter Matthiessen Copy Share Image
