The cure might be worse than the problem

Love you..." Henry-" Always..." Oh God oh God-" World enough..." No!" And time..." Henry!

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.

Oh. A bigger studio. It dawns on me, stupid me, that Henry could win the lottery at any time at all; that he has never bothered to do so because it's not normal; that he has decided to set aside his fanatical dedication to living like a normal person so I can have a studio big enough to roller-skate across; that I am being an ingrate. "Clare? Earth to Clare..." "Thank you," I say, too abruptly.

Why is love intensified by absence?

Everything seems simple until you think about it.

But you know: you know that if I could have stayed, if I could have gone on, that I would have clutched every second: whatever it was, this death, you know that it came and took me, like a child carried away by goblins.