She wished there was some place where she could go to hum it out loud. Some kind of music was too private to sing in a house cram fall of people. It was funny, too, how lonesome a person could be in a crowded house.

All we can do is go around telling the truth.

There was hope in him, and soon perhaps the outline of his journey would take form.

It was like they waited to tell each other things that had never been told before. What she had to say was terrible and afraid. But what he would tell her was so true that it would make everything all right. Maybe it was a thing that could not be spoken with words or writing. Maybe he would have to let her understand this in a different way. That was the feeling she had with him.

Don't you loathe it when doctors use the word 'we' when it applies only and solely to yourself?

I live with the people I create and it has always made my essential loneliness less keen.

We are homesick most for the places we have never known.