“they stand at his back on the cold - he can feel them there now - like new gods. like a fresh pantheon waiting to be born.It was warm, by the fire.”

“But my memories are like a fire in winter—whenever I'm cold I can warm my hands at them.—Ditta”

“But that's what love is like when it's fresh and new. It's fire and thunder and heat.”

“He stood looking out past the certainty of the empty porch, but he couldn’t imagine his father standing anywhere else. It was like listening for the phone to ring, wanting it to ring so badly you convince yourself that you can feel the person on the other end of the line, feel them dialing your number, but then you wait and wait, and it never rings.”

“Waiting for the pen to dry up so he can start fresh with thoughts that are worth new ink.”

“Long ago, men went to sea, and women waited for them, standing on the edge of the water, scanning the horizon for the tiny ship. Now I wait for Henry. He vanishes unwillingly, without warning. I wait for him. Each moment that I wait feels like a year, an eternity. Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting. Why has he gone where I cannot follow?”