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“What has not yet been lost, what still at least for this moment remains. To do what little good he can with his life. To ask for nothing more, to bow his head, pitifully grateful, God’s humble and grateful servant. Can he imagine anything less like himself? And yet here he is, defeated, relieved, forgiving everything, praying only to be forgiven.”

“To stagger on, ashamed, vanquished, demanding nothing, forsaking all his pride & self-conceit. Grateful that his losses have as yet gone only so far & no further. That God in his unmovable wisdom and mercy has left him this much. The cool touch of her hand on his face… Books he hasn’t read yet. Opening theme of Concerto No. 24. His friends… their kindly & familiar faces. There he is. Hello stranger.”

“And for this he feels a tender wounding gratitude, a sense of blessing, that he exists simply in this body, in this mind, that he is himself, this one person, rich in priceless resources which to his conscious mind remain almost infinitely unknown.”

“To me, it seems like it might all be related. Like, I don’t know, to find beauty in life, maybe it’s related to right and wrong. But I haven’t thought about it too fully. Sometimes I just have a feeling. Life a sense of being loved by God, almost. But it’s not really something that can be explained… Well, if there is a God, she says, I’m sure he loves you very much.”

Chapter 3 might be the most brilliant piece of contemporary writing I’ve ever read. Incredible.

“Waking into the peaceful quiet of her presence he feels himself at rest… Quietly they look at one another. Love at times is indistinguishable from hatred. What they represent to one another: unsatisfiable desires.”