She was a ghost in a strange house that overnight had become immense and solitary and through which she wandered without purpose, asking herself in anguish which one of them was deader: the man who had died or the woman he had left behind.

Necessity has the face of a dog.

a process of aging had taken place in him that was so rapid and critical that soon he was being treated as one of those useless great-grandfathers who wander about the bedroom like shades, dragging their feet, remembering better times aloud, and whom no one bother about or remembers really until the morning they find them dead in their bed.

and realized that death was not only a permanent probability, as he had always believed, but an immediate reality.

It is life, more than death, that has no limits.

He did not dare to console her, knowing that it would have been like consoling a tiger run thru by a spear.

For you was I born, for you do I have life, for you will I die, for you am I now dying.