I had become, with the approach of night, once more aware of loneliness and time - those two companions without whom no journey can yield us anything.

The realisation of one's own death is the point at which one becomes adult.

after all the work of the philosophers on his soul and the doctors on his body, what can we really say we know about a man? That he is, when all is said and done, just a passage for liquids and solids, a pipe of flesh.

What are stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?

He thought and suffered a good deal but he lacked the resolution to dare--the first requisite of a practitioner.

Frost in January minus 20 for a week. Dead birds frozen on the branch—they fall with the first thaw like ripe fruit—death-ripened. We shall all end like them—just a stain in the snow.

Odd, isn't it? He really was the right man for her in a sort of way; but then as you know, it is a law of love that the so-called 'right' person always comes to soon or too late.