Because ultimately only the witness -- and not the actors -- knows the truth (Vyasa to Draupadi)

Each spice has a special day to it. For turmeric it is Sunday, when light drips fat and butter-colored into the bins to be soaked up glowing, when you pray to the nine planets for love and luck.

Your childhood hunger is the one that never leaves you.

Looking back, I could not point to one special time and say, There! That's what is amazing. We can change completely and not recognize it. We think terrible events have made us into stone. But love slips in like a chisel - and suddenly it is an ax, breaking us into pieces from the inside.

But maybe as I get older, I begin to see beauty where I least expected it before.

Everytime i have turned the page he re-enters my life as awkward as postscript

Fennel, which is the spice for Wednesdays, the day of averages, of middle-aged people. . . . Fennel . . . smelling of changes to come.