“After all, the Infinite must exist in our crippled bird bodies somehow, and not as I kiss Luca on the castle grounds, or jump on the bridge to see the black and gold waters moving beneath my feet. But mundanely, humanely, as I drink tea outside a café, scribbling scraps of dialogue on a blank sheet of paper as people and pigeons pass, as the great lemon orb floods the ancient buildings and streets with illumination, as it rises to illustrate how petty are my scribblings, how small I and all these people-props appear before the harsh benevolence of its light.”