Thank you for giving me your arm and those four hours that I now understand you did not have an endless supply of. It was short but I loved our little trip. We fell in love, but the way you love a view that comes along once or twice in life.

Time, as far as my father was concerned, was a gift you gave to other people.

You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful.

I want to thank you. For the
moments you did not give
a fuck about me. It showed
me how to care for myself.
It showed me that I, too,
deserved better.

There is an hour when you realize: here is what you have been given. More than this, you won't receive. And what this is, what your life has come to, will be taken from you. In time.

Oh my Eva, whose little hour on earth did so much good... what account have I to give for my long years?

I want to thank you, Lord, for life and all that's in it.

Thank you for the day and for the hour, and the minute.

I saw a bank that said '24 Hour Banking,' but I didn’t have that much time.

We talked for four hours. Well, I talked for four, and she listened for two.

So to you, or anyone else who has spent four minutes on me in some way — listening to just one song, or watching one of my videos….Thank you. I love you like I love sparkles and having the last word. And that's real love.

Thank you for being open to another more workable draft of me. It affected me profoundly.

Thank God for the things that I do not own.

I HAVE put into thy hands what has been the diversion of some of my idle and heavy hours. If it has the good luck to prove so of any of thine, and thou hast but half so much pleasure in reading as I had in writing it, thou wilt as little think thy money, as I do my pains, ill bestowed. Mistake not this for a commendation of my work; nor conclude, because I was pleased with the doing of it, that therefore I am fondly taken with it now it is done.

You let me sing, you lifted me up, you have my soul a beam to travel on. You folded your distance back into my heart. You drew the tears back to my eyes. You hid me in the mountain of your word. You gave the injury a tongue to heal itself. You covered my head with my teacher's care, you bound my arm with my grandfather's strength. O beloved speaking, O comfort whispering in the terror, unspeakable explanation of the smoke and cruelty, undo the self-conspiracy, let me dare the boldness of joy.