" And in my secret heart of hearts, I admit there was some old mush that hadn't been scooped out of me by hardship and insanity. But there was also the story itself, the story Boris and I had written together, and in that story, our bodies and thoughts and memories had gotten themselves so tangled up that it was hard to see where one person's ended and the other's began. "

― Siri Hustvedt , The Summer Without Men