He Was Like A Song I'd Heard

I Worried She Might Spend An Afternoon Chatting With Me About The Sights And Then Wish Me Best Of Luck.

I Stumbled Out Into The Courtyard To Try To Flee My Misery, But Of Course We Can Never Flee The Misery That Is Within Us.

We Can Never Flee The Misery That Is Within Us.

A Memoir Provides A Record Not So Much Of The Memoirist As Of The Memoirist's World.

I Began To Feel That All The People I'd Ever Known Who Had Died Or Left Me Had Not In Fact Gone Away, But Continued To Live On Inside Me Just As This Man's Wife Lived On Inside Him.