“The measure of a man, she said finally, is not the words that mark his end, but everything he’s done since his beginning.”

“all he’s done since then is poke me with his pen.” “Probably because he wants to poke you with something else,” she said dryly. My eyes bugged. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“Well, everything comes to an end, sooner or later," she said. "Everything begins and ends. Everything changes.”

“I don’t know. I mean we haven’t talked about it. He literally left afterwards, and all he’s done since then is poke me with his pen.” “Probably because he wants to poke you with something else,” she said dryly”

“Ben smiled back, 'Mark Twain said a novel was a confession to everything by a man who had never done anything.”

“He’s waiting. He’s still waiting. He’s given up everything for me. His entire life. His future. Everything, because he wants to keep me safe. Because he believes, in his heart, that he’s my purpose and I’m his.”