"Those were summers when the heart quivered up from the hot yellow gravel and pierced the plaited rushes of my wide-brimmed hats, summers almost without nights. For even then I so loved the dawn that my mother granted it to me as a reward. She used to agree to wake me at half past three and off I would go, an empty basket on each arm, towards the kitchen gardens that sheltered in the narrow bend of the river, in search of strawberries, black currants, and hairy gooseberries." -- Colette

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