"I'm just a woman with a penis!" she would say, her voice rising. - John Irving

This is a writer’s lesson:
To learn that the sounds that we imagine can be the clearest, loudest sounds of all.

When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time — the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes — when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever — there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.

May God watch over your soul, which no man may abuse.