He believed in holding on. He believed in keeping up. He believed in causing as little trouble as possible, which meant, he supposed, that he believed in squeaking by. He believed in English Breakfast tea and egg-white omelettes. He believed in pocket watches and comfortable shoes. He believed in going to bed at a reasonable hour. He believed in exercising three times a week. He believed there was a mystery at the center of the great but why-is-there-anything called the universe, and that it did not speak to us, or not in a language we could understand, and that it was an insult to the mystery to pretend that it did. He believed nevertheless that his sister was watching him from somewhere just out of sight, that even if her affection for him had died along with her body, her attention — her interest — had not. He believed that his life would make sense to him one day.

-Kevin Brockmeier in The Illumination

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Seashell Salad with Buttermilk-Chive Dressing

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