It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious
All the oxygen of the world was in them. All the feet of the babies of the world were in them. All the crotches of the angels of the world were in them. All the morning kisses of Philadelphia were in them.
There is joy in all: in the hair I brush each morning, in the Cannon towel, newly washed, that I rub my body with each morning.
Daylight is nobody's friend. God comes in like a landlord and flashes on his brassy lamp.
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