The pale, cold light of the winter sunset did not beautify - it was like the light of truth itself.

All the intelligence and talent in the world can't make a singer. The voice is a wild thing. It can't be bred in captivity. It is a sport, like the silver fox. It happens.

Miracles surround us at every turn if we but sharpen our perceptions of them.

Whatever is felt upon the page without being specifically named there — that, one might say, is created.

The trees and shrubbery seemed well-groomed and social, like pleasant people.

When kindness has left people, even for a few moments, we become afraid of them, as if their reason had left them.

He had been to see Mrs. Erlich just before starting home for the holidays, and found her making German Christmas cakes. She took him into the kitchen and explained the almost holy traditions that governed this complicated cookery. Her excitement and seriousness as she beat and stirred were very pretty, Claude thought. She told off on her fingers the many ingredients, but he believed there were things she did not name: the fragrance of old friendships, the glow of early memories, belief in wonder-working rhymes and songs.