Life was still sprouting in him—over the sharp rocks and right on the nose of a cliff, he was yet far from death.
Life was as real as the wind that stroked her face—not any less or any more.
Life was as real as the wind that stroked her face—not any less or any more. p. 52
He is intriguing, I may love him... -Tomris, October 1942, p. 322.
Like a daisy fortune, The pendulum of time Beats in Dilara’s heart Loves me, loves me not... -Tomris October 1942, p.305.
