we both smile and we are conspirators.

My apartment is basically a couch, an armchair, and about four thousand books.

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.

I feel that I an everything to her.

There is only one page left to write on. I will fill it with words of only one syllable. I love. I have loved. I will love.

I look at him, look at the book, remember, this book, this moment, the first book I ever loved

I have a sort of Christmas-morning sense of the library as a big box full of beautiful books.