“How does it feel?”
“How does it feel, how does it feel to be without a home, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone.”
“Poetry is not about how we feel, of course. It’s about how we feel about how we feel. Knowing how we feel about how we feel requires an almost ungodly attentiveness or consciousness—an otherworldly watchfulness and vigilance. As does—maybe? —love?”
“tell me how does it feel with my teeth in your heart!”
“It is not what happens to you that matters; it is how you feel about it that does.”
“You're working for the Order now." "Yes." "How does it feel?" "Well, Doctor, it feels rather sore and tingly.”