“I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? “For beauty,” I replied. “And I for truth,—the two are one; We brethren are,” he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names.”

“He stood staring into the wood for a minute, then said: "What is it about the English countryside — why is the beauty so much more than visual? Why does it touch one so?"He sounded faintly sad. Perhaps he finds beauty saddening — I do myself sometimes. Once when I was quite little I asked father why this was and he explained that it was due to our knowledge of beauty's evanescence, which reminds us that we ourselves shall die. Then he said I was probably too young to understand him; but I understood perfectly.”

“...almost like they had sucked up all the air in the room, and I was left oxygen-deprived. But with Henry, I had air again, I could breathe. He thought I was funny, and so I got funnier. He thought I was beautiful, and so I felt more beautiful. He thought I was experimental in the kitchen, and so I experimented more brilliantly. We had our problems, yes, but even our problems bound us closer. And now I knew what it was like to be only half of a pair and less of myself.”

“Someday, Jessica, he says quietly, you will stand before me in this very room, as we prepare for some function whichwe both dread, for we have been to so many in our years together, and you will smile and reach up to adjust my crooked tie, as you always do. And one of our children—perhaps our first son—will tug at your dress, demanding our attention. Then I will kiss you, and reach down to lift our child, thinking, How did I come to be so happy?”

“His lips met mine again, this time in a slow, soft caress, conveying everything he had just said in those beautiful words that had reached my very soul. I could have drowned in that kiss. I could have lived there for eternity. It filled me up with everything I needed to survive. He gave me life through his lips and I treasured it.”

“In truth we were quickly reaching--had likely enough already reached--the age where it no longer made sense to talk about "promise." It was around this time that I remarked to Max that no matter what we now achieved no one would say, "He's so young." Precocity had passed us by."After twenty-eight," I sad sadly, "you're judged on your merits.""Unless one of us dies," Max corrected me. "Then they'll all say, 'He was so young.”