“The last light fades and drifts across the land—the low, long land, the sunny land of spires; the ghosts of evening tune again their lyres and wander singing in a plaintive band down the long corridor of trees; pale fires echo the night from tower top to tower… this midnight my desire will see, shadowed among the embers, furled in flame, the splendor and the sadness of the world.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald Continue reading “Private and Intimate Thoughts from the Bedroom Floor”
a literary labyrinth 