Orlandoboros?

Or at least an entry in the Invisible Library:

Then when the door was shut, and he was certain of privacy, he would have out an old writing book, stitched together with the silk stolen from his mother's workbox, and labelled in a round schoolboy hand, "The Oak Tree, A Poem." In this he would write til midnight chimed and long after. But as he scratched out as many as he wrote in, the sum of them was often, at the end of the year, rather less than at the beginning, and it looked as if in the process of writing the poem would be completely unwritten. —Virginia Woolf, Orlando

(From F.S. Sam)

The sea and the sky

Ed. note: These passages appear on the first pages of the respective novels.

In the offing the sea and the sky were welded together without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished spirits.
—Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness (1902)

The sea was indistinguishable from the sky, except that the sea was slightly creased as if a cloth had wrinkles in it. Gradually as the sky whitened a dark line lay on the horizon dividing the sea from the sky and the grey cloth became barred with thick strokes moving, one after another, beneath the surface, following each other, pursuing each other, perpetually.
—Virginia Woolf, The Waves (1931)

Often, before the monsoon broke, the sea was like a mirror. The sky appeared joined to it with barely a seam, there was a faint vibration of thunder and along the shoreline the air hung in hazy folds, suspended between lnd, and sea, and sky.
—Roma Tearne, Mosquito (2007)