Quote of the Weekend

“It was a bitter night. The thin snowfall had stopped at dusk and gradually the clouds cleared in the eastern sky to reveal a brightness of cold stars. A fitful wind whipped the fallen snow into airy and fantastic shapes that curled and glinted above the path on which the men trudged like doomed animals.” – Sharpe’s Rifles by Bernard Cornwell

(I love the beauty of this scene mixed with the pain of marching through a cold winter. Cornwell is one of the greatest historical fiction writer of our age, in my humble opinion.)

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