The sun is a blotch against the navy-blue eyes of the day, and it fades away to a lingering crest of misfortune until all these chords are struck senseless and everything we say is without meaning.
Ladida. I am an owl. Watch me go beep bloop and bam.
These were autumn mornings, the time of year when kings of old went forth to conquest; and I, never stirring from my little corner in Calcutta, would let my mind wander over the whole world. — Rabindranath Tagore, The Cabuliwallah
