Literary Quotations
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O Thou who passest thro' our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,
Oft pitchedst here thy golden tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy, thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.
How sweet I roamed from field to field,
And tasted all the summer's pride,
Till I the prince of love beheld,
Who in the sunny beams did glide!

WILLIAM BLAKE, How Sweet I Roamed

The summer was like a green sick dream, or like a silent crazy jungle under glass.

CARSON MCCULLERS, The Member of the Wedding