She thinks how much more space a being occupies in life than it does in death; how much illusion of size is contained in gestures and movements, in b… - Michael Cunningham

Dead, we are revealed in our true dimensions, and they are surprisingly modest.

Eventually, decades later, when the king was dying, the queen gently ushered everybody out into the corridor, closed the door to the royal bedchamber, and got into bed with her husband. She started singing to him. They laughed. He was short of breath, but he could still laugh. They asked each other, Is this silly? Is this...pretentious? But they both knew that everything there was to say had been said already, over and over, across the years. And so the king, relieved, released, free to be silly, asked her to sing him a song from his childhood. He didn't need to be regal anymore, he didn't need to seem commanding or dignified, not with her. They were, in their way, dying together, and they both knew it. It wasn't happening only to him. So she started singing. They shared one last laugh - they agreed that the cat had a better voice than she did. Still, she sang him out of the world.

Venture too far for love, she tells herself, and you renounce citizenship in the country you've made for yourself.

Accept that, like many men, you have a streak of the homoerotic in you. Why would you, why would anyone, want to be that straight?