“Now this court will learnthat I am the greatest in wit and courage.I am he whose writing the blind seeand whose words grant hearing to the deaf.Content with complete verses, I sleep,while others strain for simple rhymes.I laughed at the frauds and their ignoranceuntil, with discerning hand and mouth, I destroy them.If you see the lion bare his teeth,do not assume he is smiling!”

“I am irritated by my own writing. I am like a violinist whose ear is true, but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within.”

“Love can destroy or create all things, depending on whose hands wield the emotion, and whose heart gets in the way. I regret nothing I've felt in the past, for it got me to where I am now, nor do I regret what I feel now. I regret the devastation that comes with the passage of time, but I do not regret you. Nor will I ever.”

“When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the people, and was silent. "There they stand," said he to his heart; "there they laugh: they do not understand me; I am not the mouth for these ears.”

“Why am I doing this, Brynne?” he demanded.“I don’t know, Ethan.” I could barely speak."“Yes you do. Say it, Brynne!” I tensed as an orgasm started to rule me but he immediately reduced the pace, taking it down a notch with slow pulls in and out of my spread sex.“Say what?” I cried, frustrated.“Say the words I have to hear. Say the truth and I’ll let you come.” He speared into me slower and nipped at my bare shoulder with his teeth.“What is the truth?” I was starting to sob now, completely at his mercy.“The truth is,” he grunted the rest on three, hard, punctuating thrusts, “You. Are. Mine!”I inhaled on a cry at the final thrust.He sped up again, fucking faster. “Say it!” he growled.“I’m yours, Ethan!”

“Am I to die?” I asked, and he stopped, raised our joined hands to his mouth and gently kissed my knuckles. “You are, my love, and in your sleep, you will become Death’s bride.”