" These spasms of emotion take him
constantly. A song can do it; even the sight of an old dog. They pass. They usually pass. This time,
though, tears start falling from his eyes almost before he knows it will happen, and for a moment a
compartment of his being (the same compartment that counts steps, sips, claps) says to itself, He's
crying, how strange. Louis leans forward, puts his face in his hands. He sobs. "

― Michael Cunningham , The Hours