The one passion of my life lay buried in the sunlit forests of Brittany.
At first, his friends noted, he would simply ask his mistress to sit in a chair in a sunlit room.
A sunlit courtyard with a dry, cracked fountain at its center beckoned us to stop.
The girl had stopped beside the sunlit pond, leaning far over.
Life seemed very precarious, in spite of the sunlit landscape.
The sunlit clearing, the grey cabin, the dark forest edges, all seemed to whirl and swim about her for an instant.
But in the depths of her crystal she saw always a sunlit sea and a gull's wings flashing.
In the sunlit calms, riding at our moorings, much we discussed eternity and creation.
