In Calabria Quotes

“Claudio Bianchi did write poetry [...] He had no vanity about this, no fantasies of literary celebrity; he simply took pleasure putting words in order, exactly as he laid out seedlings in the spring, and tasting them afterward, as he tasted fresh new scallions or ripe tomatoes, or smelled mint or garlic on his hands.”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“He knew something of sorrow, remembered joy, and devoutly hoped--as much as he consciously hoped for anything other than proper allotments of sunshine and rainfall--never again to encounter either of those two old annoyances.”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“Marriage isn't like football, like bocce. One isn't good at it, nobody has a special gift. You stumble along, and if there is enough love--" she smiled at him-- "you learn.”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“The universe and Claudio Bianchi had agreed long ago to leave one another alone, and he was grateful, knowing very well how rare such a bargain is, and how rarely kept. And if he had any complaints, he made sure that neither the universe nor he himself ever knew of them.”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“I call her La Signora sometimes. Not for her to answer to, just for me, inside.”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“La Signora looked into his eyes, as she had done before, but this time Bianchi looked back and lost himself in a bright wilderness: a forest filled with glowing, shifting shadows, where nothing threatened, but nothing he knew applied, nothing he recognized held its shape for long. He felt himself altering, amending, as he wandered there--for how long?--until he had to make himself return while there was still a himself to command. And that is why men hunt unicorns, and why they will always kill them when they capture them. Not the beauty, not the magic of the horn . . . because of what lives and waits in the eyes. Finally I understand.”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“They may be apart sometimes, they may come and go as they choose--what can love be like when you live forever?--but they wait for each other, they find each other, they are together always!”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“Can you write a poem about someone's snores? About trying not to sneeze when her hair tickles my nose? About that one tiny barely audible fart against my leg?”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“He never allowed himself to grow less vigilant; but happiness is the old enemy of watchfulness, and Bianchi was practically happy. Growling contentment is not the same thing, but he hadn't known.”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“He wrote a poem about that, about not knowing so many things in a life. The poem was a failure, as far as he was ever concerned; he felt so about most of the poems he wrote during that time. Which was odd, when he thought much about it, because it was a really good time, taken all in all.”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“Why are you hoping to kill the unicorns? Why would you not just take pictures, videos, with your cell phones, your fancy digital cameras, and let them be?"

The young men looked at him, and then at each other, in plain astonishment They were not bad or vicious young men. They replied by turns, but they might as well have been speaking in unison. "What would be the point of that? Without the horn, the skull, all mounted on the wall, what would it mean?”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“The ludicrousness of admonishing an immortal creature to be careful was a little more than his sense of the absurd could tolerate.”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“To the unicorn he spoke without grooming or ordering his thoughts, without concern as to what such a creature might think of him--as though, in fact, to the oldest of old friends.”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“When the wind changes, and you smell the new moon and dance off over the hills and far away, the only heart broken around here will be the goat's. I want you to understand that. You are a miracle, yes, truly—the one miracle of my life—but miracles do not break the heart. Foolish, ridiculous things do that, songs do that, smells do that, everyday stupidities do that...”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria

“and even the feral, near-wild Third Cat, whose true name he had never discovered, as one has to do with cats, trailed”
― Peter S. Beagle, In Calabria