I believe, nay, I assert with confidence and deliberation, having clearly in mind all other bedroom woes—such as hard mattress, flock pillows, scant covering, intrusive dawn, eoan bird-songs, disappointed or fatiguing love, companions lapped and chrysalised in robbed blankets and close-gripped sheets, and yet turning and ever turning still—I say with deliberation, that this is the shrewdest stroke of fortune, the harshest bedroom chance, a light only extinguishable by the door. 1935, Rose Macaulay, “Bed”, in Personal Pleasures, London: Victor Gollancz Ltd, section 1 (Getting into it), page 64:
But we can note how wonderfully Pirip has woven the eoan light to recreate the images of life's grey, last sickly days […] 2015, Bill Reed, The Pipwink Papers, Melbourne, Vic.: Reed Independent, →ISBN: