It may be true that death is a large empty hole and that sorrow is knowing just how deep the hole is, but it is only true when one is sober. If one has snaps one can fill up the hole with all the beautiful thoughts one can think of, and all the fine words one can hit on. One can fill it right up to the brink, and then put a stone there. He loved her because she loved him, and if one is loved, one loves in return, otherwise one is a fool.

A Burnt Child (1948)