I was sitting beside his bed, holding his hand. Not hoping that he would wake up, nor even hoping to hear his voice. Only to make sure there was still some warmth passing between us before it completely faded away.
— Ian McEwan, In Search of Love
“Time has never healed any pain; it is we who, little by little, learn to live with our wounds.”
— Gabriel García Márquez, The Autumn of the Patriarch