“He wa so difficult to read, it was frustrating. His thoughts and emotions always seemed to be kept very carefully under wraps. Whereas I felt like I was an open book.”

“It's always been difficult for me to speak and express my innermost thoughts. I prefer to write. When I sit down and write, words grow very docile, they come and feed out of my hand like little birds, and I can do almost what I want with them; whereas when I try to marshal them in open air, they fly away from me.”

“How can I be sure? Tell me something only you would know.” There went his hands to his hair again. And when that frustrated him, he did the fist thing. So far,he was very convincing. “You want trivia right now?”“Yes!” Why did he always make things so difficult? Add another check to the “He’s probably Gabe” list.“Like what?” I had to stop looking at his head. “I don’t know.What tattoo do I have on my left boob?”“I thought you said to tel you something only I would know.”

“I saw an old guy sleeping, and I thought he was dead. But I kept checking his pockets for money, because it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“I kept always two books in my pocket, one to read, one to write in.”

“The thought of these vast stacks of books would drive him mad: the more he read, the less he seemed to know — the greater the number of the books he read, the greater the immense uncountable number of those which he could never read would seem to be…. The thought that other books were waiting for him tore at his heart forever.”