“Chili, spice of red Thursday, which is the day of reckoning. Day which invites us to pick up the sack of our existence and shake it inside out. Day of suicide, day of murder.”

“Fennel, which is the spice for Wednesdays, the day of averages, of middle-aged people. . . . Fennel . . . smelling of changes to come.”

“Monday is the day of silence, day of the whole white mung bean, which is sacred to the moon.”

“Each spice has a special day to it. For turmeric it is Sunday, when light drips fat and butter-colored into the bins to be soaked up glowing, when you pray to the nine planets for love and luck.”

“Each day has a color, a smell.”

“Tomorrow is another day. I've got plenty of things to worry about right now.”

“How can I forgive if you are not ready to give up that which caused you to stumble?”