The Goldfinch

by Donna Tartt

I was very taken with the idea that a person might notice in passing some bewitching stranger and remember her for the rest of his life.

The painting, the magic and aliveness of it, was like that odd airy moment of the snow falling, greenish light and flakes whirling in the cameras, where you no longer cared about the game, who won or lost, but just wanted to drink in that speechless windswept moment. When I looked at the painting I felt the same convergence on a single point: a sunstruck instant that existed now and forever.