sky
One by one the stars fell into the sea, the sky drained of its last lights.
Notebook IX, in Albert Camus: Notebooks 1951–1959, trans. by Ryan Bloom (Chicago, IL: Ivan R. Dee, 2008), 244.
The sky was peach and gold, a teacup of a morning, just enough clouds so as not to mock us.
An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination (New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2008), 100.
Halfway up the slope, guarded by a group of tall, slim cypress trees, nestled a small strawberry-pink villa, like some exotic fruit lying in the greenery. The cypress trees undulated gently in the breeze, as if they were busily painting the sky a still brighter blue for our arrival.
My Family and Other Animals (New York: Penguin Books, 2004), 16.