Each time we talk, he listens to me ramble, then he tries to pass on some sort of life lesson. He warns me that money is not the most important thing, contrary to the popular view on campus. He tells me I need to be "fully human." He speaks of the alienation of youth and the need for "connectedness" with the society around me.

I am not bothered by the silence. For all the noise I make with my friends, I am still not comfortable talking about my feelings in front of others - especially not classmates.

In light of this, my visits with Morrie felt like a cleansing rinse of human kindness. We talked about life and we talked about love. We talked about one of Morrie's favourite subjects, compassion and why our society had such a shortage of it.

Morrie.. had developed his own culture - long before he got sick. He read books to find new ideas for his classes, visited with colleagues, kept up with old students, wrote letters to distant friends. He took more time eating and looking at nature.. He had created a cocoon of human activities - conversation, interaction, affection - and it filled his life like an overflowing soup bowl.

Some of these things I understand, some I do not. It makes no difference. The discussions give me an excuse to talk to him, fatherly conversations I cannot have with my father, who would like me to be a lawyer.

Silence enhances music. What you do not play can sweeten what you do. But it is not the same with words. What you do not say can haunt you.