Leo Tolstoi, 16 de Janeiro de 1854
I was stuck today by the poetic beauty of the winter weather. In the sky a mist got up and the pale sun shone through it. On the roads the dung is beginning to thaw and there is a damp moisture in the air.
«Unless I write something, anything, good, indifferent or trashy, every day, I feel ill.» W. H. AUDEN & «Thanking the public, I must decline/ A peep through my window, if folk prefer/ But, please, you, no foot over threshold of mine» House, Robert Browning, 1874
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