He smiled at me, and it was not the worried, nervous smile from before, but a smile that meant he was pleased. And I don't remember him ever smiling … - Richard Ford

Things you did. Things you never did. Things you dreamed. After a long time they run together.

He was becoming who and what he was always supposed to be. He’d simply had to wear down through the other layers to who he really was. I’ve seen this phenomenon in the faces of other men — homeless men, men sprawled on the pavement in front of bars or in public parks or bus depots, or lined up outside the doors of missions, waiting to get in out of a long winter. In their faces — plenty of them were handsome, but ruined — I’ve seen the remnants of who they almost succeeded in being but failed to be, before becoming themselves.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him sing opera.