“a few brown leaves are stuck to the outside of the glass like leather tongues.”

“There are few pleasures which loosen the tongue as much as that of sharing wine, glass in hand.”

“Was this love? Because it hurt. It was like a bit of glass stuck somewhere important--his heart or his head, and it was throbbing.”

“The "Wet Tongue Gets Stuck To A Frozen Flagpole" attack!”

“Autumnal -- nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day ... Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it ... Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses... deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth -- reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. At such times, perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.”

“…his eyes looked different outside. Nearly blue, like a thick, antique glass bottle.”