“He felt as if he were paying for the privilege of music with portions of his life and body. But it was well worth it.”

“She was touching his body with her tongue, and he felt it there, but somehow what she was doing went deeper. As if that gentle, moist tongue of hers were flicking his heart as well.”

“He wept, and it felt as if the tears were cleansing him, as if his body needed to empty itself.”

“He felt now as if his entire body were recovering from frostbite, and he understood suddenly why people died in blizzards. It was not because they were cold and fell asleep. It was because it hurt too much to come back to life.”

“For all his frustrations and his chronic sense of being overburdened. He was proud of that; he’d always felt that it was worth doing a task properly if it was worth doing at all. That was part of his problem, of course; that was why he ended up with so much to do. It was also the source of his own particular pride: he knew--and he was certain they knew that there was no one else who could handle details such as these as well as he.”

“His eyes were still closed and his body rocked gently to the music, but his face was almost...desolate. His words matched his face, as he sang about how each day was a struggle, and never seeing my face caused him physical pain. He sang that "my face was his light, and he felt drenched in darkness without it." Tears fell freely after I heard that line.”