A light snow, a snow so faint and small-bodied that it seems nothing more than a manifestation of the cold. - James Salter

It's in the little towns that one discovers a country, in the kind of knowledge that comes from small days and nights.

Bowman, too, had been born in a great city, in the French Hospital in Manhattan, in the burning heat of August and very early in the morning when all geniuses are born, as Pearson once told him. There had been an unbreathing stillness, and near dawn faint, distant thunder. It grew slowly louder, then gusts of cooler air before a tremendous storm broke with lightning and sheets of rain, and when it was over,

ONE OF THE LAST GREAT REALIZATIONS is that life will not be what you dreamed.