Yes, the past is a foreign country", I said, "but some of us are full-fledged citizens, others occasional tourists, and some floating itinerants, itching to get out yet always aching to return.

E soprattutto la pedita di persone che non sapevo nemmeno di dover ancora incontrare e amare ma di cui poi avevo perso le tracce e che non avevo rivisto mai più.

And as I opened the door, I pivoted and performed what I hoped was one of those accomplished inspectors' by the way exit lines seen in so many movies: Did she happen to know how one could reach Giovanni, the cabinetmaker?

I should find someone to speak to, but—and the thought jolts me because I wasn't careful to nip it—the only one who'd understand is the very one I wish to lash out against. I'm like those seeking comfort or, better yet, advice, from the very person who abuses them.

As long as we can be one with something, anything, we're okay.

I live for this. And if this is all there is, well, this is all there is.

You made me who I am today, Nanni. Wherever I go, everyone I see and crave is ultimately measured by the glow of your light. If my life were a boat, you were the one who stepped on board, turned on its running lights, and was never heard from again. All this might as well be in my head, and in my head it stays. But I've lived and loved by your light alone.

. . . love, which happens only once in life, and thereafter is never quite spontaneous or impulsive.

Your problem is not that you misread signs; all you see are signs.

This is love, he would have said, diffidence is love, fear itself is love, even the scorn you feel is love. Each of us comes by it the wrong way. Some spot it right away, others need years, and for some it comes in retrospect only.