I don’t want her turning up in the deep hours of the night, shattering its pregnant silences with a racket of explanations and regrets, and blurting out plans to take away more the remaining hours of darkness. (1)

 Sometimes I think it is my fate to live in the wreckage and confusion of crumbling houses. (1)

 But it is possible to say something, and I have an urge to give this account, to give an accounting of the minor dramas I have witnessed and played a part in, and whose endings and beginnings stretch away from me ...

 I have time on my hands, I am in the hands of time, so I might as well account for myself. Sooner or later we have to attend to that. (2)