“1.WE'VE LEFT SHORE SOMEHOWBECOME THE FRIENDS OF EARLY THEORYCLOSE ENOUGH TO SPEAKDESIRE AND PAIN OF ABSENCEOF MISTAKES WE'D MAKEGIVEN THE CHANCE. EACH SMILE RETURNED MAKES HARDER AVOIDINGDREAMS THAT SEE USLYING IN EARLY EVENINGCURTAIN SHADOWS, SKINSAFE AGAINST SKIN.BLOOM OF COMPASSIONRESPECT FOR MOMENTSEYES LOCK TURNSFOREVER INTO ONE MORE VEIL THAT FALLS AWAY. 2.THIS AFTER SEEING YOULAST NIGHT, FIRST TIMESMELLING YOU WITH PERMISSION: SHOULDERS TOWONDER OPENLY ATAS CAREFULLY KISSEDAS THOSE ARMSWAITED IMPOSSIBLY ON.THEY'VE HELD ME NOW AND YOUR BREATH DOWN MY BACKSENT AWAY NIGHT AIRTHAT HAD ME SHAKINGIN THE UNLIT ANGLICANDOORWAY. 3.ARE WE RUINED FOR FINDING OUR FACES FITAND WANT TO KNOW MOREABOUT MORNING? ISFRIENDSHIP CANCELLEDIF WE CAN'T CALLEACH OTHER ANYMORE IN AMNESIA, INVITEOURSELVES TO LAST GLANCESUNDER SUSPICIOUS CLOCKSTELLING US WHEN WE'VE HAD ENOUGH? 4.YOUR STEADY HANDSCRADLING MY GRATEFULSKULL: WERE YOU TAKING IN MY FACE TOSAVE AN IMAGEYOU'VE RARELY ALLOWEDYOURSELF AFTER LEAVINGTHAT COLD ALCOVE?AM I A PHOTOGRAPH YOU GAZE AT IN MOMENTS OF WEAKNESS? YOU ORDERED MEOFF MY KNEESINTO YOUR ARMS.WASN'T TO BEGTHAT I KNELT; ONLYTO SEE YOU ONCE FROM BELOW. TRIED TO SAY SOMETHING THAT FILLED MY MOUTHAND LONGED TO RESTIN YOUR EAR.DON'T DARE WRITE IT DOWN FOR FEAR IT'LL BECOME WORDS, JUST WORDS.”

“If you daren't enter the forest, or cannot find it, then perhaps you might find one tree, or a place where a tree could be, and just stop for a quiet moment to see what happens.”

“You don't have to make something that people call art. Living is an artistic activity, there is an art to getting through the day.”

“Be kind. It's worthwhile to make an effort to learn about other people and figure out what you might have in common with them.”

“I want morning and noon and nightfall with you. I want your tears, your smiles, your kisses...the smell of your hair, the taste of your skin, the touch of your breath on my face. I want to see you in the final hour of my life...to lie in your arms as I take my last breath.”

“But you were only an idea to me before, an abstraction that lived in my mind and called forth its appropriate response. It was that abstraction I stabbed. But now, for the first time, I see you are a man like me. I thought of your hand-grenades, of your bayonet, of your rifle; now I see your wife and your face and our fellowship. Forgive me, comrade. We always see it too late. Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us, that your mothers are just as anxious as ours, and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the same agony - Forgive me, comrade; how could you be my enemy? If we threw away these rifles and this uniform you could be my brother just like Kat and Albert. Take twenty years of my life, comrade, and stand up - take more, for I do not know what I can even attempt to do with it now.”

“My heart sings of your longing for me, and my thoughts climb down to marvel at your mercy. I do not fear as you gather up my days. Your name is the sweetness of time, and you carry me close into the night, speaking consolations, drawing down lights from the sky, saying, See how the night has no terrors for one who remembers the name.”