Leo Tolstoy is scribbling furiously in the light of a dimly burning candle.  At such close quarters, its searing heat has covered his forehead in a permanent patina of sweat, making the great novel a true work of toil.  Suddenly, in the middle of a particularly vivid war scene, he curses out loud and blows frantically on the paper where bits and blobs of melted wax from the candle have dropped, burning holes in the story.  ‘Ah, to have been born a hundred years later,’ he mutters ruefully.  ‘At least the electric bulb would have been invented by then. –via The Irascible Professor-commentary of the day 01-10-12.  “From parchment to attachment.”.

Hat tip to Josh.