“I have more online contacts than I can count. I make about one hundred connections a day. I have access to millions of people. I use to think that I had friends in these numbers. But virtual friends are like stars stretched out in the sky. They’re out there, they exist, and I can imagine what they’re like, but we’ll never meet. We all just co-exist in this vast universe with a length of space between us.”

“I never had a connection like that to anyone, where every day you think about what you’ll tell them and you wonder what they’re doing, and you know they’re wondering what you’re doing.”

“I keep thinking they’re gonna call me. I keep thinking they’re gonna crunch the numbers and think, oh, we can make money with this! And they don’t.”

“And sometimes I sit there late at night or early in the morning, and I think about the vastness of the ocean, of the sky, of the spaces between us and the nearest stars, about the incredible, unfathomable bigness of it all.”

“I can think of nothing but the stars. It is like a piece of my soul had been lost, empty, and it is now filled with the light of a million stars. They are all that I have ever dreamed of; they are nothing that I ever expected... I will never, never be the same. I have seen stars. Real stars.”

“I think you’re more an archivist than a librarian,” he said.He told me that archivists and librarians were opposite personas. True librarians are unsentimental. They’re pragmatic, concerned with the newest, cleanest, most popular books. Archivists, on the other hand, are only peripherally interested in what other people like, and much prefer the rare to the useful.”They like everything,” he said, “gum wrappers as much as books.” He said this with a hint of disdain.”Librarians like throwing away garbage to make space, but archivists,” he said, “they’re too crazy to throw anything out.””You’re right,” I said. ”I’m more of an archivist.””And I’m more of a librarian,” he said.”Can we still be friends?”