Then he almost but didn't say the two sentence he'd been meaning to say for years: part of me is made of glass, and also, I love you

How was it possible to wake up every day and be recognizable to another when so often one was barely recognizable to oneself?

The oldest emotion in the world may be that of being moved; but to describe it-just to name it-must have been like trying to catch something invisible.

lonely people are always up in the middle of the night.

...after all, who isn't a survivor from the wreck of childhood?

No, what I felt was the torment of waiting, stuck between the end of one sentence and the beginning of the next which might or might not bring a hail storm, plane crash, poetic justice, or a miraculous reversal.

There are moments when a kind of clarity comes over you, and suddenly you can see through walls to another dimension that you'd forgotten or chosen to ignore in order to continue living with the various illusions that make life, particularily life with other people, possible.