“The sky was a cold iron-grey, like the underside of a shield. A sharp breeze lifted the hems of skirts and rattled the leaves on the immature trees; a spiteful, chill wind that sought out your weakest places, the nape of your neck and your knees, and which denied you the comfort of dreaming, of retreating a little from reality.”

“Your thighs are apple trees. Your knees are the southern breeze.”

“The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong.”

“Elisa thought how empty the prayers sounded. The words rattled around in the ancient rafters and then returned to them like dead leaves falling from the trees. No life. No shade of hope. Only a cold wind that blew into their very souls.”

“Whoever you are: in the evening step outof your room, where you know everything; yours is the last house before the far-off:whoever you are. With your eyes, which in their wearinessbarely free themselves from the worn-out threshold, you lift very slowly one black treeand place it against the sky: slender, alone.And you have made the world. And it is hugeand like a word which grows ripe in silence. And as your will seizes on its meaning,tenderly your eyes let it go...”

“Your thighs are appletrees. Your knees are a southern breeze.”