parts of Italy were intact, like ways of looking at the snow. it was in the eyes, the Tuscan light, the way it made the snow explode, and wood, and iron railings and soot; it was in the eyes, and through the spirit, and spirit loved the world and was not alien to it and so the festive was a box of chocolates or any homely thing in the world, for nothing could resist the song of a boy’s heart . . .