Quite like old times,' the room says.

I've been so ridiculous all my life that a little bit more or a little bit less hardly matters now.

Everything tender and melancholy - as life is sometimes, just for one moment.

Something in her brain that still remained calm told her that she was doing a very foolish thing indeed.

Quite like old times,' the room says.

I want more of this feeling - fire and wings.

But they never last, the golden days. And it can be sad, the sun in the afternoon, can't it? Yes, it can be sad, the afternoon sun, sad and frightening.