“I remember the hugs,” she said. “I remember you said you loved me. No man had ever said that to me before. My mother used to say it to me a lot—before she died.” I was starting to cry again. “I know you never meant it,” she said. “I did, I did,” I protested. “Oh, my God—I did.” “It’s all right,” she said. “You couldn’t help it that you were born without a heart. At least you tried to believe what the people with hearts believed—so you were a good man just the same.”
Perhaps my favorite bit of Vonnegut.
