“Under an orchard tree, dropping with cherries, cowgirls lay in the shade. They fed each other fruit. Dark juice dribbled into dimples. Cherry meat stained smiles and nostrils.”

“Under a cherry tree, all burdens of life fly away!”

“I'd like to dividemyself in order to see,among these mountains,each and every flowerof every cherry tree.”

“Razo knew he was best at nothing, except maybe cramming two cherries into a single nostril.”

“Razo wasn't good at anything except maybe cramming two cherries up one nostril.”

“On those luminous mornings Adela returned from the market, like Pomona emerging from the flames of day, spilling from her basket the coloful beauty of the sun –the shiny pink cherries full of juice under their transparent skins, the mysterious apricots in whose golden pulp lay the core of long afternoons. And next to that pure poetry of fruit, she unloaded sides of meat with their keyboard of ribs swollen with energy and strength, and seaweeds of vegetables like dead octopuses and squids–the raw material of meals with a yet undefined taste, the vegetative and terrestrial ingredients of dinner, exuding a wild and rustic smell.”