"But once in a while there's a great dynamite-burst of flying glass and brick and splinters through the front wall and somebody stalks over the rubble, seizes me by the throat and gently says, 'I will not let you go until you set me, in words, on paper.'" – Richard Bach
I never want to feel like I’ve lost something again, so now I don’t keep anything. You want me to ask you to stay, to ask if I can keep you, but can’t you tell? I’ve already let you go.