“Please Mia," he implores. "Don't make me write a song.”

“Ah," Caspar exclaimed when he walked into the kitchen. "The grey is a good choice. Makes you look much less demon-of-the-night.""Please, Caspar," he implored. "A date with a live woman. Soon.”

“Please," I whisper. "Please don't make do this. Don't make me choose.”

“Throughout all of the changes that have happened in my life, one of the priorities I've had is to never change the way I write songs and the reasons I write songs. I write songs to help me understand life a little more. I write songs to get past things that cause me pain. And I write songs because sometimes life makes more sense to me when it's being sung in a chorus, and when I can write it in a verse.”

“Tell me truly, I implore-- Is there-- is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!”

“I must tell you this, Maggie. Your letters are my lifeline. Your threat to stop them terrified me. Never stop writing to me, I implore you.”