Baseball fans love numbers. They love to swirl them around their mouths like Bordeaux wine.

Comely was the town by the curving river that they dismantled in a year's time. Beautiful was Colleton in her last spring as she flung azaleas like a girl throwing rice at a desperate wedding. In dazzling profusion, Colleton ripened in a gauze of sweet gardens and the town ached beneath a canopy of promissory fragrance.

... silence (can) be the most eloquent form of lying.

Her laughter was a shiny thing, like pewter flung high in the air.

Without music, life is a journey through a desert.

Even today, I hunt for the fabulous books that will change me utterly. I find myself happiest in the middle of a book which I forget that I am reading, but am instead immersed in a made-up life lived at the highest pitch.

All life connects ... Nothing happens that is meaningless.