"No words were more important than the warm tone of that voice as it told me, without speaking, that my grief meant something to him, that my life as a complete stranger meant something to him.
It seemed like so little, but it was everything. In the end, that’s all we ever really need. To face whatever that may be, we need nothing more than the occasional illusion that our life means something to someone who knows nothing about us."
- Monique Proulx. The Heart is an Involuntary Muscle. translated by David Homel and Fred A. Reed. Douglas & McIntyre Ltd, 2003. pg 129
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