A Song for Summer

by Eva Ibbotson

He said if you have a talent you had to use it to go further into life and not escape from

But candles are . . . candles. They are not confined to countries or religions; their living flame reaches upwards to places where disputation has long since ceased. Neither Krishna, nor Jehovah, nor Jesus Christ would claim to be the sole recipient of the hope and faith that goes into the act of candle-lighting, in the attics of unbelievers, in schools, on birthday cakes and trees . . .

defenestrate

To throw someone out of a window

‘Good God, Leon, why do you always turn back on yourself? If you feel the need to write music, or play it, then do so, but believe me your creativity is of no interest to anyone. Write something – then it’s there. If it’s what you wanted to write, if it exists, then leave it. If it doesn’t, throw it away. Your beautiful state of mind is totally irrelevant.’

‘Love is a matter of linguistics,’ the old man had said. ‘It is completely different in French or German or Spanish . . . even in the dark, even when no words are spoken.’