“I couldn't convince her that if I had a book with me, I wasn't lonely.”

“I was becoming convinced that I was going to be lonely for the rest of my life. It wasn't that I wasn't meeting men. I was. It was just that they all drove me crazy.”

“The books were a private part of me that I carried inside and guarded and didn't talk to anybody about; as long as I had the books I could convince myself I was different from the others and my life wasn't quite as stupid and pointless.”

“I had no idea how lonely I was until I wasn't lonely anymore.”

“I was feeling lonely without her, but the fact that I could feel lonely at all was consolation. Loneliness wasn't such a bad feeling. It was like the stillness of the pin oak after the little birds had flown off.”

“I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell anyone. As long as I didn't say it aloud, it wasn't real.”