[T]he astonishing purity of pain, how it will not be mixed with any other sensation.

That’s what having no sensation is like: to be without a body, as if you’re ethereal, floating like a ghost. To not feel alive. "Seeing is believing” is doubly applicable to someone like her.

Mud-pies gratify one of our first and best instincts. So long as we are dirty, we are pure.

It is a sensation not experienced by many mortals, said he, "to be looking into a churchyard on a wild windy night, and to feel that I no more hold a place among the living than these dead do, and even to know that I lie buried somewhere else, as they lie buried here. Nothing uses me to it. A spirit that was once a man could hardly feel stranger or lonelier, going unrecognized among mankind, than I feel."

When I'm writing, I'm waiting to see somebody, and I'm waiting to hear them. It's almost like conjuring spirits out of the air, using your own imaginative instability.

The point is that although love may die, what is said on its behalf cannot be consumed by the passage of time, and forgiveness is everything.