“
Through his opened bedroom window, he noticed that the night sky had turned a crimson red. The moon, punctured by hues of cerulean blue, hung precariously over the withering willow trees that lined the riverbank, located several hundred yards away. The storm predicted by the forecasters was heading his way.
”
― Call of the Nightingale
― Call of the Nightingale
“
You’ve made a wise choice, lad...I won’t insult your intelligence with the word ‘trust’.
”
― White Jazz
― White Jazz
