I recently saw a film about a morose, beaten-down man whose job in a Las Vegas casino was to bring gamblers calamitous bad luck. Known in the trade as a "cooler," when he drew near, the dice became frigid, the cards grew a layer of hoarfrost, and the queen of hearts wept icy tears. But then he fell in love, and the world turned topsy-turvy. Everywhere he went, slot machines that had spit lemons now peeled with ecstatic jackpots. The dice were too red-hot to handle, and baccarat tables practically sprouted crocuses. Even murderous goons and heartless goombahs were stirred to noble deeds. It was a wonderful evocation of that love which flouts the law of averages, beats the house odds, and finally breaks the bank.
— Marc Ian Barasch, Field Notes on the Compassionate Life