"<p></p> <p>I can never understand why the most beautiful memory of my life is the moment - I must have been ten years old - when I entered my mother's dark, empty bedroom one winter afternoon and, standing in the doorway, I saw the bluish reflection of the snow glowing across from the rooftops of the houses on the opposite side of the street, on the polished furniture and the stove tiles by the window. I cannot forget the magic of this moment. The blue glow of the snow in the dark room was a real shock, but at the same time it filled me with a feeling of happiness that I had never experienced before or since. I had never known this total enchantment of the mystery, the fairy tale, the dreamlike, the otherworldly, the enchanted, until then, and I never later found it in my life, never, nowhere. What happened then in my heart, in my nerves, or in the world? I cannot explain it. The miraculous cannot be explained. And a memory like that is eternal in a soul, as fabulous and bluish as the snow on the rooftops opposite my mother's bedroom.</p>"