If you won’t sing in the car with me when we drive, we can’t be friends
People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it’s quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness.
Markus Zusak, The Book Thief