“Words deserted him immediately. He could only speak when he was not asked to.”

“The emptinesss was a hole that only he could fill. He was the relief. It pulled from every direction, this yearning for him. All he needed to do was speak the words, “Kiss me,” and I would obey.”

“Ah! The English language was a wonderful thing! You could always find the right word. He only wished he could speak the language.”

“Love?' he asked himself, giving no sense of recognition for that word in the dictionary of his mind. It was the only battle he had lost in life, the only thing that had been snatched away from him, before he could even claim it.”

“For the happy man prayer is only a jumble of words, until the day when sorrow comes to explain to him the sublime language by means of which he speaks to God.”

“Music really did mean something to him, he realized, and it always had. It called to him, although there were no words to describe what it promised. It was like a secret language he never forgot how to speak, a hometown he could always return to when he tired of what life was throwing at him.”