“She was a bright disc in him that left him sun-spun. She was circular, light-turned, equinox-sprung. She was season and movement, but he had never seen her cold. In winter, her fire sank from the surface to below the surface,… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth. — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
