Is it possible, in the final analysis, for one human being to achieve perfect understanding of another? We can invest enormous time and energy in serious efforts to know another person, but in the end, how close can we come to that person's essence? We convince ourselves that we know the other person well, but do we really know anything important about anyone?

It was as if I were writing letters to hold together the pieces of my crumbling life.

Everything. Things you lost. Things you’re gonna lose. Everything. Here’s where it all ties together.

The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts.

Music always stimulates my imagination. When I'm writing I usually have some Baroque music on low in the background chamber music by Bach, Telemann, and the like.

I said nothing for a time, just ran my fingertips along the edge of the human-shaped emptiness that had been left inside me.

I didn't have much to say to anybody but kept to myself and my books. With my eyes closed, I would touch a familiar book and draw it's fragrance deep inside me. This was enough to make me happy.