What can I do but take my chances? I was thinking incoherently, coming out of the chapel into the midday light. And what else can I do? Look after my teeth, listen to all the music I can, and keep going. Keep working on my escape tunnels out of the past. Keep hoping to break through to the here-and-now. To be just myself, like the cat, which is so perfectly and unself-consciously a cat and does not know it will perish. What can I do, when everything is so various and so beyond me, but cling on, and thank the God I don't believe in for the miracles showered on me?
This final passage in her book moved me to tears. Here's this stunningly beautiful woman who's lived - and it still living - a life so full of passion, travel, education and learnedness yet her heart cries out for something more. She knows this, she knows she should be thankful and fulfilled, grateful for this life and all her experiences - good, bad, ugly, indifferent. And yet. That's just it - yet. Her heart cries out for something more and it pains me so.