“We move through the day like two hands of a clock: sometimes we overlap for a moment, then come apart again, carrying on alone. Everyday exactly the same: the tea, the burnt toast, the crumbs, the silence.”

“I do believe in an everyday sort of magic -- the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience with places, people, works of art and the like; the eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity; the whispered voice, the hidden presence, when we think we're alone.”

“We met every morning, still bearded with toast crumbs from our continental breakfasts.”

“Sometimes, Hem, things change and they are never the same again. This looks like one of those times. That's life! Life moves on. And so should we.”

“We move through our days with the comfort of familiarity, waking at the same time each morning and almost always the same way...”

“Each one of us continues to carry the heart of each self we've ever been, at every stage along the way, and a chaos of everything good and rotten. And we have to carry this weight all alone, through each day that we live. We try to be as nice as we can to the people we love, but we alone support the weight of ourselves.”