Watch. Watch. Listen. Listen. The sound the paper made against the folder...had the same tone as a wave scraping against sand. And when Harold thought about it...he listened to enough waves every day...to constitute what he imagined to be a deep and endless ocean.
Now, was any part of you at one time part of something eIse? Like do I have someone eIse's arms?
The Iast thing to determine concIusiveIy... is whether you're in a comedy or a tragedy. To quote ItaIo CaIvino: ''The uItimate meaning to which aII stories refer has two faces: The continuity of Iife, the inevitabiIity of death.'' Tragedy, you die. Comedy, you get hitched.
I couId change. I couId quit my job. I couId go away with Ana. I couId be someone eIse.
As Harold took a bite of Bavarian sugar cookie...he finally felt as if everything was going to be okay. Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair...in routine and constancy...in hopelessness and tragedy...we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And fortunately, when there aren't any cookies...we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin...or a kind and loving gesture...or a subtle encouragement...or a loving embrace...or an offer of comfort. Not to mention hospital gurneys...and nose plugs...and uneaten Danish...and soft-spoken secrets...and Fender Stratocasters...and maybe the occasional piece of fiction.And we must remember that all these things...the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties...which we assume only accessorize our days...are, in fact, here for a much larger and nobler cause: They are here to save our lives. l know the idea seems strange. But l also know that it just so happens to be true. And so it was: A wristwatch saved Harold Crick.