“I have lived at Cold MountainThese thirty long years.Yesterday I called on friends and family:More than half had gone to the Yellow Springs.Slowly consumed, like fire down a candle;Forever flowing, like a passing river.Now, morning, I face my lone shadow:Suddenly my eyes are bleared with tears.”

“As my father talked, tears dripped down the side of his face like candle wax. The sight shocked me; until that moment, I had assumed men were as incapable of crying as they were of having babies.”

“I wrapped my arms around me as tightly as I could, and stared up at the stars. Had I not been so cold and wanting to escape so badly, I could have stared at them forever: They were amazingly beautiful, so dense and bright. My eyes could get lost up there if I left them looking long enough. [...] They swallowed me up. They were like a hundred thousand tiny candles, sending out hope.”

“Now I see that I will never find the lightUnless, like the candle, I am my own fuel,Consuming myself.”

“A tear rolled down my cheekAnd more came downUntil tears rolled down like a stream.My eyes were blind with tears for you.They washed my eyes till I could see.”

“i have never had anybody talk to me like this.this is not a flirty sixth-grade phone call or bantering with friends or words passed in a note.i feel that if my soul could talk it wouldtalk like this.”