Читать книгу Really Unusual Bad Boys - MaryJanice Davidson - Страница 6

Oh that the desert were my dwelling place,

With one fair spirit for my minister,

That I might all forget the human race,

And hating no one, love but only her!

—Lord Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage

A thousand fantasies

Begin to throng into my memory,

Of calling shapes, and beck’ning shadows dire,

And airy tongues that syllable men’s names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses.

—John Milton, Comus

Like sands through the hourglass,

so are the days of our lives.

—Days of our Lives