“There is no one that can make me look into their eyes and see the rest of my life. Only you.”

“But I never looked like that!’ - How do you know? What is the ‘you’ you might or might not look like? Where do you find it - by which morphological or expressive calibration? Where is your authentic body? You are the only one who can never see yourself except as an image; you never see your eyes unless they are dulled by the gaze they rest upon the mirror or the lens (I am interested in seeing my eyes only when they look at you): even and especially for your own body, you are condemned to the repertoire of its images.”

“Look into my eyes and you will see me. Look into my heart and you will see yourself.”

“My eyes are not worthy to look upon your face, yet they will not rest until they see you again.”

“The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hand to touch. Vaguely, I can see you face looking down into me, as I look back. Do you see my eyes?”

“You have a wild-eyed look, my Beth. What do yousee?”“Don’t look at me,” she cried, now utterly unhinged.“Don’t look into my eyes when you can see everything in them, and I am not able to look into yours and see anything!”