The sun is my wine.

Miss Fairlie laughed with a ready good-humour, which broke out as brightly as if it had been part of the sunshine above us…

the lesser grindstone stood alone there in the calm morning air, with a red upon it that the sun had never given, and would never take away.

I have sometimes thought that the reason the trees are so quiet in the summer is that they are in a sort of ecstasy; it is in winter, when the biologists tell us they sleep,...