“A long time ago, the act of another put the dark in his veins, and it's been there ever since. The night he lost his true love, his heart and his brain became one, so that his heart was scheming and his brain was loving. 'That doesn't sound so bad', my dream-self thought, but suddenly I could feel it, and it was very bad indeed—for when a brain loves, it is only out of obsession, and when a heart schemes, it does not mean well.”

“Oh, fuck. He loved Mischa? Since fucking when did he fall in love on twenty-four hour’s notice? His heart shrugged, his dick applauded and his brain shriveled up and ran for a darker corner. That made his choice all the clearer, didn’t it”

“The only shame George Webber felt was that at one time in his life, for however short a period, he broke bread and sat at the same table with any man when the living warmth of friendship was not there; or that he ever traded upon the toil of his brain and the blood of his heart to get the body of a scented whore that might have been better got in a brothel for some greasy coins. This was the only shame he felt. And this shame was so great in him that he wondered if all his life thereafter would be long enough to wash out of his brain and blood the last pollution of its loathsome taint.”

“He smiles, even though he knows it will never be like that again, even though he knows the world no longer wants what he has, what he loves, what he has devoted his life to building and maintaining. He lies in bed and stares at the photo and smiles. His brain says let it go, sell it. His heart says no. His sense of reason and his brain tell him to do it. His heart says no. Whenever he allows himself to hear it, his heart says no, no, no. All day long, everyday, his heart screams no. (…) he lies in bed and stares at the photo and smiles. His brain says let it go, sell it. His heart says no.His heart says no.”

“My true-love hath my heart and I have his,By just exchange one for the other given:I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;There never was a bargain better driven.His heart in me keeps me and him in one;My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:He loves my heart, for once it was his own;I cherish his because in me it bides.His heart his wound received from my sight;My heart was wounded with his wounded heart;For as from me on him his hurt did light,So still, methought, in me his hurt did smart:Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss,My true-love hath my heart and I have his.”

“His brain and his heart knew this, but he couldn’t stop himself, and the razor of his conscience lent the undeniable thrill of pain to the act.”