The Glassmaker

by Tracy Chevalier

People who make things also have an ambiguous relationship with time. Painters, writers, wood-carvers, knitters, weavers and, yes, glassmakers: creators often enter an absorbed state that psychologists call flow, in which hours pass without their noticing. Readers, too.

Marco did make one exceptionally beautiful piece: an ornate goblet of clear filigree, with handles shaped like the winged lions that decorated every flag in Venice, and a bowl so shallow it was almost a plate.

He makes things pretty but unusable, probably his character coming through as gifted but not dependable

When you already know how to do something, it can be hard to put yourself in the shoes of someone who doesn’t.

She too had no intention of entering a convent, as so many spare women did. She had no intention of being spare.

Venice was where you found an anonymous taverna and drank to forget bad news.

How have we come to be ruled by a young tyrant? Orsola thought. But she knew: her parents had not reined in Marco but let him have his way and believe he was right in all things.

It was a distraction from Antonio, and its own passion, one that was far more satisfying than a man, for there was something concrete and beautiful at the end of it, something you could hold and turn and study and run your thumb over, something with a symmetrical shape and colors that blended or clashed.

A pearl needs grit to be beautiful; beauty comes from the scar on the lip, the gap in the teeth, the crooked eyebrow.

Storytelling is a delicate balance between clarity and mystery.

becco fotuo (V)—fucking cuckold

magnamerda (V)—shit eater

muso da mona (V)—cunt face

sprotìn (V)—little wise ass