Her voice was like a line from an old black-and-white Jean-Luc Godard movie, filtering in just beyond the frame of my consciousness.

Sometimes I get real lonely sleeping with you.

My arm was not what she needed, but the arm of someone else. My warmth was not what she needed, but the warmth of someone else.

That's gotta be one of the principles behind reality. Accepting things that are hard to comprehend, and leaving them that way.

Death was not the opposite of life. It was already here, within my being, it had always been here, and no struggle would permit me to forget that.

No matter where i go, i still end up me. What's missing never changes. The scenery may change, but i'm still the same incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that i can never satisfy. I think that lack itself is as close as i'll come to defining myself.

Probably." "Again with the probablys." "A world full of probablys," she said.