"If anyone other than you had me fly halfway around the world just to keep me waiting while you were obviously lingering in bed, I’d have my driver run them over. Twice."

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The melancholy river bears us on. When the moon comes through the trailing willow boughs, I see your face, I hear your voice and the bird singing as we pass the osier bed. What are you whispering? Sorrow, sorrow. Joy, joy. Woven together, like reeds in moonlight.

— Virginia Woolf