“The silence isn't so bad, till I look at my hands and feel sad. Because the spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly.”

“The silence isn't so badTill I look at my hands and feel sadCause the spaces between my fingersAre right where yours fit perfectly”

“The spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly”

“You occupied my space. But because you were not in my present, when I looked into my future I saw . . . nothing. Isn't that sad? And stupid?”

“For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel peaceful. Not happy. Not sad. Not anxious. Not horny. Just all the higher parts of my brain closing up shop. The cerebral cortex. The cerebellum. That's where my problem is. I'm now simplifying myself. Somewhere balanced in the perfect middle between happiness and sadness. Because sponges never have a bad day.”

“Nothing ever fits the palm so perfectly, or feels so right, or inspires so much protective instinct as the hand of a child”