“I also know the way the old life haunts the new.”
“Where goes he now, that dark little dog who used to come down the road barking and shining? He’s gone now, from the world of particulars, the singular, the visible. So, that deepest sting: sorrow. Still, is he gone from us entirely, or is he a part of that other world, everywhere?” “She roved ahead of me through the fields, yet would come back, or wait for me, or be somewhere. Now she is buried under the pines.” “I miss that too. And now you’ll be telling stories of my coming back and they won’t be false, and they won’t be true, but they’ll be real.”