.... "death turns all men into great lovers. Would that they were equally ardent while the lady was still alive!

Verona is a very beautiful city, but Siena just never ceases to fascinate me.

Peppo!" I yelled, pulling at my cousin's suspenders. "I really don't want to be arrested, okay?" "Don't worry!" Peppo turned a corner and accelerated as he spoke. "I go too fast for police!

Janice used to say that instinct was reason in a hurry; I was not so sure about the reason part.

She had died peacefully, in her sleep, after an evening of listening to all of her favorite Fred Astaire songs, one crackling record after another. Once the last chord of the last piece had died out, she had stood up and opened the French doors to the garden outside, perhaps waiting to breathe in the honeysuckle one more time.

I think Shakespeare is everybody's treasure.

Everything we say is a story. But nothing we say is just a story.