“Largely, now, it was not anger he felt, but rather a kind of bone-scraping, quiet, ever-present sorrow. To come to the place that was… — Elizabeth Graver Copy Share Image
“how much he loved being alone except when he didn't, except when it got to be too much?” — Elizabeth Graver Copy Share Image
“Table salt hardens here. Books mildew. Diaries flip open. Private Property: Please Turn Around.” — Elizabeth Graver Copy Share Image
