Friday, January 25, 2013

literacki


“The melancholy river bears us on. When the moon comes through the trailing willow boughs, I see your face, I hear your voice and the bird singing as we pass the osier bed. What are you whispering? Sorrow, sorrow. Joy, joy. Woven together, like reeds in moonlight.”
~Virginia Woolf, “The String Quartet,” from A Haunted House, And Other Short Stories 1944