Wordplay: The Reading Spot

Here is a sonnet: A witch? No, for the spell is too kind; She knows me not, yet of her I've heard If a mirage is she - a nomad is my mind, If she's the blue, limitless sky, I am but a bird. Like the Sun, warmth engulfs me through her gaze, Like the Moon on a winter night, she unseats my bearing; While in her presence, the rest is all a haze, Of all the troubles in the world, I'm uncaring. Until now, captive to her flame, The moth in my heart dares to grow wise; Overwrought, howsoever true, it must be tamed For though snow shines brighter in the Sun, it shortly dies. And so, I move forth, my desire seems to have burned;  But I hear her sweet voice call my name, and I forget all that I have learned.  - Armaan Kothare ** Thanks for reading my attempt at writing a Shakespearan sonnet!

“Every one is really responsible to all men for all men and for everything.” - Fyodor Dostoyevsky Rafe boarded the train just before the compartment doors shut. He breathed a sigh of relief, but only momentarily, and hurried further to find the debriefed compartment. This time, unlike his previous assignments, not only did Rafe not know the face of his target, but he was also late. The target was to get off at the next station, which was only thirty-four minutes away. The odds were against him, and he was not very happy about it.  Having a rather modest, yet relatively respectable record of eight accomplished assignments, with no breaches, if Rafe were to botch this particular mission, he wouldn't be spared from being treated as a beginner's luck-riding rookie. His promotion being on the line certainly alleviated none of this pressure. Compartment 38...40...and there, Rafe reached the 42nd compartment, as mentioned in his briefing, with thirty minutes left. Rafe scanned his vic...