“In the emptiness of evenings, serious and unequivocal, he would say: “How beautiful is forgetting! what relief it would be for the world to lose some of its contents!”

“How beautiful is forgetting! What relief it would be for the world to lose some of its contents.”

“He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have.”

“It's like he would take a photograph of Sam, and the photographwould be beautiful. And he would think that the reason thephotograph was beautiful was because of how he took it. If I tookit, I would know that the only reason it's beautiful is because ofSam.”

“It's queer how out of touch with truth women are. They live in a world of their own, and there had never been anything like it, and never can be. It is too beautiful altogether, and if they were to set it up it would go to pieces before the first sunset. Some confounded fact we men have been living contentedly with ever since the day of creation would start up and knock the whole thing over.”

“He’d seen unequivocally that the chaos he’d dedicated his life to holding at bay was stronger and wider and more powerful than he would ever be. No compromise he could make would be enough. His death-self was unfolding in him, and the dark blooming took no effort. It was a relief, a relaxation, a long, slow exhale after decades of holding it in.He was in ruins, but it was okay, because he was dying.”