Memories lighted through the dead rooms

His memory of those times was like a house where no one lives and where the furniture has rotted away. But tonight it was as if lamps has been lighted through all the gloomy dead rooms. It had begun to happen when he saw Tico Feo coming through the dusk with his splendid guitar. Until that moment he had not been lonesome. Now, recognising his loneliness, he felt alive. He had not wanted to be alive. To be alive was to remember brown rivers where the fish run, and sunlight on a lady's hair.

Mr Schaeffer hung his head. The glare of the stars had made his eyes water.

Truman Capote - A Diamond Guitar, 128 (of Breakfast at Tiffany's, Penguin)