“In the twilight that was now the colour of dust, in the fury of horns that was a national language because honking had telegraphic properties..”
“How can there be fury felt for things that are gone to dust.”
“Honk!" he yelled. "Honk honk honk honk honk honk honk!"His classmates agreed.”
“We stay this way until twilight colours the window and the hour calls me home”
“i charge laughing. Into the hair-thin tintsof yellow dawn,into the women-coloured twilight”
“Travel does this: it creates space that allows thoughts and memories to intrude and assert themselves with impunity. Smells and sights, the quality of light, the honk of a horn -- can all act as touchstones when least expected.”