“But he is an Italian," was Umberto's sensible reply. "He doesn't care if you break some law a little bit, as long as you wear beautiful shoes. Are you wearing beautiful shoes? Are you wearing the shoes I gave you?...principessa?"I looked down at my flip-flops. "I guess I'm toast.”
“Even if the shoe fits, that doesn't mean I'm going to wear it; I don't want to wear somebody else's smelly old shoe. I'd rather go barefoot.”
“How many birthdays can you fit in a shoebox? I guess that depends both on how old you are, and what size shoe you wear.”
“Why are you only wearing one shoe?" he asked."I lost the other. It upsets me to talk about it.”
“Quickly look down, now you tell me, when you were little did you ever imagine that you'd be wearing those shoes? Mind blowing isn't it?”
“Often it isn't the mountains ahead that wear you out, it's the little pebble in your shoe.”