A.S. Byatt Quote
We run with milk and bloodWhat we would give we spillThe hungry mouths are raisedWe spill we fail to fillThis cannot be restoredThis flow cannot redeemThis white's not wiped awayThough blanched we seemHowe'er I wipe and wipeHowe'er I frantic-scourThe ghost of my spilled milkMakes my Air sour.
A.S. Byatt