““...painted by a troubled young man, Mrs. Zephyr was saying... cut off part of his own ear... Ambrose went back to looking. What he saw didn't need his mother going on about symbols and meanings and madness and genius, he thought. She knew a lot, but she didn't know when to stop complicating things. The sunflowers were like none he had ever seen, ear or no ear, troubles or not. Ambrose Zephyr liked what he liked and didn't like what he didn't like. It was as simple as that.””