Magic shall be written on the faces of the stony hills but their minds shall not be able to contain it;
In winter the barren trees shall be a black writing but they shall not understand it...
She wore a gown the colour of storms, shadows and rain and a necklace of broken promises and regrets.
Oh, I should think they are indeed lost, poor souls! For, when all is said and done, Venice is only a labyrinth - a vast and and beautiful labyrinth, but a labyrinth nonetheless and none but its oldest inhabitants can be sure of finding their way about...
The pleasures of losing oneself in a maze pall very quickly.
(c - Susanna Clarke 'Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrel')