So the days, the last days, blow about in a memory, hazy autumnal, all alike as leaves: until a day unlike any other I've lived

Sicily is more beautiful than any woman.

New York is a diamond iceberg floating in river water.

Shoot, boy, the country's just fulla folks what knows everything, and don't understand nothing, just fullofem.

The wind is us-- it gathers and remembers all our voices, then sends them talking and telling through the leaves and the fields.

I've been working, working, working, and you know, sometimes you look back at your work and you see that it just isn't any good.

Just remember: If one bird carried every grain of sand, grain by grain, across the ocean, by the time he got them all on the other side, that would only be the beginning of eternity.