He looks sad. Or maybe that's just how he looks when he isn't doing something else with his face.

The hardest lesson is Clare’s solitude. Sometimes I come home and Clare seems kind of irritated; I’ve interrupted some train of thought, broken into the dreary silence of her day. Sometimes I see an expression on Clare’s face that is like a closed door. She has gone inside the room of her mind and is sitting there knitting or something. I’ve discovered that Clare likes to be alone. But when I return from time traveling she is always relieved to see me.

Chaos is more freedom; in fact, total freedom. But no meaning.

CLARE: The library is cool and smells like carpet cleaner, although all I can see is marble.

I'm bored with knitting. I've taken up arson.

Now I wonder if it means that the future is a place, or like a place, that I could go to; that is go to in some way other than just getting older.

When you live with a woman you learn something every day. So far I have learned that long hair will clog up the shower drain befor you can say "Liquid-Plumr"; that it is not advisable to clip something out of the newspaper before your wife has read it, even if the newspaper in question is a week old; that I am the only person in our two-person household who can eat the same thing for dinner three nights in a row without pouting; and that headphones were invented to preserve spouses from each other's musical excesses.