“He's filled with a sense of childish release, the old feeling that because you are sick, all your trials and obligations have been suspended.”

“One often feels exalted, expanded, in his presence. He is not one of those egotists who miniaturize others. He is the opposite kind of egotist, driven by grandiosity rather than greed, and if he insists on a version of you that is funnier, stranger, more eccentric and profound than you suspect yourself to be--capable of doing more good and more harm in the world than you've ever imagined--it is all but impossible not to believe, at least in his presence and for a while after you've left him that he alone sees through to your essence, weighs your true qualities (not all of which are necessarily flattering--a certain clumsy, childish rudeness is part of his style), and appreciates you more fully than anyone else ever has.”

“What I want to say is that I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me & incredibly good. I want to say that - everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer. I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.”

“He says, 'I don't know if I can face this. You know. The party and the ceremony, and then the hour after that, and the hour after that.''You don't have to go to the party. You don't have to go to the ceremony. You don't have to do anything at all.''But there are still the hours, aren't there? One and then another, and then you get through that one and then, my god, there's another. I'm so sick.”

“I don't know if I can face this. You know. The party and the ceremony, and then the hour after that, and the hour after that.""You don't have to go to the party. You don't have to go to the ceremony. You don't have to do anything at all.""But there are still the hours, aren't there? One and then another, and you get through that one and then, my god, there's another. I'm so sick.”

“One of the troubles with love is, you can't talk about it without feeling like you keep cueing old songs.”

“I wanted to be a writer, that's all. I wanted to write about it all. Everything that happens in a moment. The way the flowers looked when you carried them in your arms. This towel, how it smells, how it feels, this thread. All our feelings, yours and mine. The history of it, who we once were. Everything in the world. Everything all mixed up, like it's all mixed up now.”