I’m curious about things that people aren’t supposed to see—so, for example, I liked going to the British Museum, but I would like it better if I could go into all the offices and storage rooms, I want to look in all the drawers and—discover stuff. And I want to know about people. I mean, I know it’s probably kind of rude but I want to know why you have all these boxes and what’s in them and why all your windows are papered over and how long it’s been that way and how do you feel when you wash things and why don’t you do something about it?

When it's over you look up: the world looks the same but you are somehow different and that feeling lingers for days.

I've noticed that Henry needs an incredible amount of physical activity all the time in order to be happy. It's like hanging out with a greyhound.

Henry loves my hair almost as though it is a creature unto itself, as though it has a soul to call its own, as though it could love him back.

we both smile and we are conspirators.

That's what alcoholics do. It's in their job description: fall apart and then keep falling apart.

Do you ever miss him? Every day. Every minute. Every minute, she says. Yes, it's that way, isn't it?