“Her life in ink.”

“His entired life bundled into wenty refuse sacks.His and her memories bundle away in Holly's mind.Each item unearthed dust, tears, laughter and memories. She bagged the items, cleared the dust, wiped her eyes and filed away the memories.”

“There were hundreds of them spread across the floor, each telling its own tale of triumph or sadness, each letter representing a phase in her life. She had kept them all.”

“So many objects, so many memories. Each was being labelled and packed away in bags just as it was in her mind. To be stored in an area that would sometime be called upon to teach and help in future life.”

“You know, it’s interesting. Children learnmuch more, far more quickly than adults. Do you know why that is?”Elizabeth assumed there was some scientific explanation for it, butshook her head.“Because they’re open-minded. Because they want to know and theywant to learn. Adults”—he shook his head sadly—“think they know it all.They grow up and forget so easily instead of opening their minds, they choosewhat to believe and what not to believe. You can’t make a choice on things likethat, you either believe or you don’t. That’s why their learning is slower. Theyare more cynical, they lose faith, and they only demand to know things thatwill help them get by day by day. They’ve no interest in the extras. But, Elizabeth,”he said, his voice a loud whisper, eyes wide and sparkling, and Elizabethshivered as goose pimples rose on her arms. She felt as if he were sharingthe world’s greatest secret with her.“It’s the extras that make life.”“That make life what?” she whispered.He smiled. “That make life.”Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat. “That’s it?”Ivan smiled. “What do you mean, that’s it? How much more can youget than life, how much more can you ask for than life? That’s the gift. Lifeis everything, and you haven’t lived it properly until you believe.”

“Her silence was worth more to her than a thousand words.In that silence,she had peace and clarity.Except during the night,when her own jumbled thoughts would keep her awake.”

“She didn't feel thirty. But then again again, what was being thirty supposed to feel like? When she was younger, thirty seemed so far away, she thought that a woman of that age would be so wise and knowledgeable, so settled in her life with a husband and children and a career. She had none of those things. She still felt as clueless as she had felt when she was twenty, only with a few more gray hairs and crow's feet around her eyes.”