"Sometimes he felt as though every instant he spent with her was a precious capsule of sensation to be lovingly wrapped and carefully place somewhere inviolable, away from harm. But he only fully realised later; it wasn't something he was fully aware of at the time. At the time, it seemed to him that the only thing he was fully aware of, was her."
"At any time he could simply look at her and wrap his adoration for her around himself like a coat on a cold day, and see her life and body, moods and expressions and speech and movements as a whole enthral long field of study that he could emerge himself in, like a scholar finding his life's work"
"When he tried to tabulate his love, list all the things about her that drew him to her, he found himself starting at the larger facts- her beauty, her attitude to life, her creativity- but as he thought over the day that had just passed, or just watched her, he found individual gestures, single words, certain steps, a single movement of her eyes or a hand starting to claim equal attention. He would give up then, and console himself with something she'd said; that you could not love what you fully understood. Love, she maintained, was a process; not a state. Held still, it withered. He wasn't too sure about all that; he seemed to have found a calm serenity in himself he hadn't even known was there, thanks to her."
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