“I have so many friends I couldn’t even count them on one hand—not even if I had six fingers. Now, if I had seven fingers, I could count on them, but I still wouldn’t be able to count on my friends.”

“Experience counts for something. I count with my fingers. I could count on you, but you’ve only got one finger for me (the middle one).”

“Right,” I fumed, my index finger poking him in thechest. “So we’re even then. My kiss didn’t count because itwas an accident and yours didn’t count because it wasstrictly for medical purposes. Neither of them counted askisses.”“Would you have wanted them to?” Brent demandedsuddenly, bending his neck so he whispered it in my ear”

“Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don't want to miss any of them.”

“I was dozing, and the clock woke me. I didn’t hear the first few chimes distinctly, that is to say, I didn’t count them. But as soon as I decided to count I realized that there had already been three, so I was able to count four, five, and so on. I understood that I could say four and then wait for the fifth, because one, two, and three had passed, and I somehow knew that. If the fourth chime had been the first I was conscious of, I would have thought it was six o’clock. I think our lives are like that—you can only anticipate the future if you can call the past to mind. I can’t count the chimes of my life because I don’t know how many came before. On the other hand, I dozed off because the chair had been rocking for a while. And I dozed off in a certain moment because that moment had been preceded by other moments, and because I was relaxing while awaiting the subsequent moment. But if the first moments hadn’t put me in the right frame of mind, if I had begun rocking in any old moment, I wouldn’t have expected what had to come. I would have remained awake. You need memory even to fall asleep. Or no?”

“Thanks," I say. Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don't want to miss any of them.”