'There would not be the grand revelation he had always
imagined, Instead, only the steady drag of the minute hand that
pushed the future into the present and then beat it into the past
and turned all possibilities into spent realities.'
'...He felt lonely. Books are wholly inadequate
substitutes for humans and humans are wholly inadequate
substitutes for books, he thought, and even as he felt a small
satisfaction with the idea, he realised it wasn't very witty, just
vaguely true.'
'I fear this is my pinnacle
my vitalest moments
to slip away in this library
learning about others long gone.
Where is the world?
Is it here among the books? Or
through the window, in the sunshine?'
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