“As I stood there,hushed and still,I could swear that the house was not an empty shell but lived and breathed as it had lived before.”
“Empty, empty, empty; silent, silent, silent. The room was a shell, singing of what was before time was; a vase stood in the heart of the house, alabaster, smooth, cold, holding the still, distilled essence of emptiness, silence.”
“Living like an empty shell is not really living, no matter how many years it may go on. The heart and flesh of an empty shell give birth to nothing more than the life of an empty shell.”
“And still I stood looking at the house, thinking how happy I should be if I lived there with her, and knowing that I never was happy with her, but always miserable.”
“Tried living in the real world instead of a shell, but I was bored before I even began.”
“Memories. Weighty emptinesses. I live in a memory the size and shape of a house.”