“Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of what might come leaking out.”

“Philosophy hasn't made any progress? - If somebody scratches the spot where he has an itch, do we have to see some progress? Isn't genuine scratching otherwise, or genuine itching itching? And can't this reaction to an irritation continue in the same way for a long time before a cure for the itching is discovered?”

“He takes my right hand and places it palm down on his chest. Then he traces around it with the pen, craning his neck to see, giving himself double chins.'What are you doing?'He shifts my hand away and starts scratching out letters on his skin. 'I worked out a tattoo - if I had one.'I look at what he's done. He's got the outline of my hand over his heart and in it he's written, Her.”

“I stitched an itch to my side. As far as surgeries go, I’m just barely scratching the surface.”

“Fill what is empty, empty what is full, and scratch where it itches.”

“Had he known his death was imminent, he might have gone somewhere else. Instead, he did what we all do. He went about his dull routine as if all the days in the world were still to come.”