“I went outside, tripping over slabs of sunshine the size of towns. The sun was like a crowd of people, it was a party, it was music. The sun was blaring through the walls of the houses and beating down the steps. The Sun was drumming time into the stone. The sun was rhythming the day.”

Source: Lighthousekeeping (2004), p. 197

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Jeanette Winterson 187
English writer 1959

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