(no subject)

[alterin]

"I look at my brother Malachy. Did you hear that? Our own egg of a Sunday morning. Oh, God, I already had plans for my egg. Tap it around the top, gently crack the shell, lift with a spoon, a dab of butter down into the yolk, salt, take my time, a dip of the spoon, scoop, more salt, more butter, into the mouth, oh, God above, if heaven has a taste it must be an egg with butter and salt, and ater the egg is there anything in the world lovelier than fresh warm bread and a mug of a sweet golden tea?"

I'd love to ask the author if he still likes soft boiled eggs :P Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt is excellent so far...