… Isn’t my literary career like that bird mingling in the nothingness, braying its heartfelt rhythm all along, all alone?

… Poor little darling … Only if I had known some way to tell you Abdul’s opinion of you, without hurting you, I would have told you. It may break your heart but stop you from breaking up, that is.

… If I had the power to raise at least one from the dead, I would raise Iqbal; he was so indispensable to me …

… The ferocious feeling of guilt within me, possesses me, time and again, shoving me to let them know. Nevertheless, how can I? Facts so explosive … every time I decide to tell, my courage fails me.

… I could never get those antique furniture pieces back; ever. The loss was bearable, had Raghu not got an impression that I had lied to him …

… Why didn’t you ever tell me, Dad? I never loved you less than I did when you were so confident about the success of my tennis career; never.

… If I were ever to get power to retrieve photographs that I have burnt … I would crave to retrieve that ‘coach Mom’s’ photograph, the most. Feeling of guilty conscience of the nonsensical burning of that photograph, Mom being no more, would die when I die…

… You can never kill that ‘Helena’ because ‘she’ is ‘you’. She is as much a part of ‘you’ as your eyes, your ears, your arms, and your legs are. …