“With the onrushing green blur that he knew was the garden; the orange blob behind the trees that he thought was the setting sun; the echo of laughter that he recognized as the voice of the girl he would give his life for if she politely asked; the taste of tangerine, his world was suddenly set into motion.”

“Tradition is an indifferent god. Like love, that one does not see it, or see it whole, does not mean it ceases to exist; if it is not possible to see, like one’s soul, it is often hidden from view, like one’s sole.”