I remember being awakened one morning by voices in the room where I slept.
I am like a child at school. The new page is always going to be neatly written, and then pouf! . . . a blot. I'm still making blots . . . and I am 40 years old.
Suddenly an immense wave rose up like a raging mountain, caught the vessel and carried it towards the beach.
One must not look at color by itself, but in conjunction with the color of the sky! That sky is grey - but so iridescent that even our pure white would be unable to render the light and shimmer.
It would be a long trip indeed if one stopped at every attractive town or village, at every beautiful motif —