Lonely as God, and white as a winter moon, Mount Shasta starts up sudden and solitary from the heart of the great… — Joaquin Miller Copy Share Image
“I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me… — Jack Kerouac Copy Share Image
“When the sun goes down, it is very cold and then I easily start crying because the winter moon pierces my heart… — Angela Carter Copy Share Image
“I shook my head. “The men in green all forsook England a hundred years ago,” said I, speaking as seriously as he… — Charlotte Brontë Copy Share Image
“They fell quiet. Cork wanted to say he loved her. He wanted to ask her to forgive him. He wanted to lay… — William Kent Krueger Copy Share Image
“If he expected an answer - and he wasn't certain that he didn't - he was disappointed. He told himself he had… — William Kent Krueger Copy Share Image
“And yet she didn't want to kill herself. She loved the world too much, and people. She loved taking long walks in… — Jhumpa Lahiri Copy Share Image
“These days things had a way of happening around him. Although events seemed chaotic, Cork was beginning to suspect they weren't at… — William Kent Krueger Copy Share Image
Do not think I do not realise what I am doing. I am making a composition using the following elements: the winter… — Angela Carter Copy Share Image
The winter moon becomes a companion, the heart of the priest, sunk in meditation upon religion and philosophy, there in the mountain… — Yasunari Kawabata Copy Share Image
How can the mind be so imperfect?" she says with a smile. I look at my hands. Bathed in the moonlight, they… — Haruki Murakami Copy Share Image
“That night, as Cork lay in his bedroll, he thought about the bear they were after. He was glad Sam had changed… — William Kent Krueger Copy Share Image
“I died on a bitter cold night. Beneath a black sky and a bruised winter moon, I tried to fly, hoping my… — Jennifer Archer Copy Share Image
“Leaning against my car after changing the oil, I hold my black hands out and stare into them as if they were… — B.H. Fairchild Copy Share Image
“Kay yawned and rested her forehead against the windowpane, her fingers idly strumming the guitar: the strings sang a hollow, lulling tune,… — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
The best thing would be to break your neck, but you'd probably just break your leg and then you couldn't do a… — Haruki Murakami Copy Share Image
