"The sky was a rich, mindless, never - ending blue, like a promise of some ridiculous glory that wasn't really there. . . . The days were clear and beautiful; and, as September [and October!] rolled around, the hateful glare gave way to a certain luminosity, a dusty, golden quality. . . . all the more stirring since it was drifting towards autumn half - ruined, careless of itself."
from The Goldfinch, 232, 234, 228
by Donna Tartt (American author, b. 1963)
"I like these out-of-season crossings. When you're young you prefer the vulgar months, the fullness of the seasons.* As you grow older you learn to like the in - between times, the months that can't make up their minds. Perhaps it's a way of admitting that things can't ever bear the same certainty again. Or perhaps it's just a way of admitting a preference for empty ferries. . . . The sky is a theatre of possibilities. I am not romanticising."
from Flaubert's Parrot, 83
by Julian Barnes (British author, b. 1946)
*Both Anne Lamott and Jimmy Fallon
make similar observations.