Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.

The past is an obdurate stranger that puts as many marks on us as we attempt to impose on it.

The battle of good and evil reduced to a fat woman standing in front of a chocolate shop, saying, Will I? Won’t I? in pitiful indecision.

Drunkeness, she told us in a rare moment of confidence, is a sin against the fruit, the tree, the wine itself. Wine, distilled and nurtured from bud into fruit; it deserves reverance. Joy. Gentleness. (Page 194.)

We came in the wind of the carnival. A wind of change, or promises. The merry wind, the magical wind, making March hares of everyone, tumbling blossoms and coat-tails and hats; rushing towards summer in a frenzy of exuberance.

It's a feeling which tells me that any woman can be beautiful in the eyes of a man who loves her.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.