“She loved to walk down the street with a book under her arm.
It had the same significance for her as an elegant cane for the dandy a century ago.
It differentiated her from others.”
– Milan Kundera
At last she looked up at him. Her eyes were full of tears, and her look unbearably naked. Such looks we have all once or twice in our lives received and shared; they are those in which worlds melt, pasts dissolve, moments when we know, in the resolution of profoundest need, that the rock of ages can never be anything else but love, here, now, in these two hands’ joining, in this blind silence in which one head comes to rest beneath the other.