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…the dandelion wine stood in the cellar, numbered huge for each and every day. He would go there often, stare straight into the sun until he could stare no more, then close his eyes and consider the burned spots, the fleeting scars left dancing on his warm eyelids; arranging, rearranging each fire and reflection until the pattern was clear…”

From the final page of Dandelion Wine (a novel set in the summer of 1928) by Ray Bradbury

Photo: Sharayanan