"Maybe the only thing that matters is to make our lives last as long as they do. You know, to make life last until it ends, to make all the parts come out even, like when you rub the last piece of bread in the last drop of olive oil on your plate and eat it with the last sip of wine in your glass".
(Marlena de Blasi. A thousand days in Tuscany. A bitter sweet adventure)
I shall remember that, as I sat in the garden, and, looking up from my book, saw through a gap in the shrubbery the red house-tiles against the deep blue sky and the grey underside of the ilex-leaves turned up by the Mediterranean breeze, it was all still quiet Tuscany, if Tuscany in a minor key.
(Henry James. Italian Hours)
