“I look up, my lord is flapping his wings and coo doving white and I look at Tristessa to know why she got a dove and Tristessa lifts up her tender hands helplessly and looks at me affectionately and sadly, to indicate, ‘It is my Pigeon’ – ‘my pretty white Pigeon – what can I do about it?’ ‘I love it so’ – ‘It is so sweet and white’ – ‘It never make a noise’ – ‘It got such prurty eyes you look you see the prurty eyes’ and I look into the eyes of the dove and they are dove’s eyes, lidded, perfect, dark, pools, mysterious, almost Oriental, unbearable to withstand the surge of such purity out of eyes – Yet so much like Tristessa’s eyes that I wish I could comment and tell Tristessa ‘Thou hast the dove’s eyes’ – .”

Jack Kerouac

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