“Riding upon the back of a waterhorse - what mortal had ever stayed in such a seat for so long? On a horse made of cold currents and liquid convergences, jests and trickery - pressed against a hide like the burnished sea of midnight, thing look different to the rider.”

“The mortality rate among sea horses is not to be believed. Because the difference between a dead sea horse and a living sea horse is imperceptible, selling dead sea horses would make a very good pet store scam.”

“And in me too the wave rises. It swells; it arches its back. I am aware once more of a new desire, something rising beneath me like the proud horse whose rider first spurs and then pulls him back. What enemy do we now perceive advancing against us, you whom I ride now, as we stand pawing this stretch of pavement? It is death. Death is the enemy. It is death against whom I ride with my spear couched and my hair flying back like a young man's, like Percival's, when he galloped in India. I strike spurs into my horse. Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death!”

“SilverThe liquid ebony stretches outand mingles with the midnight skywhere high above,as on a throne,is perched that perfect sphere of silver.She looks upon the lapping waves,the calm, all serene;She looks upon the rocky shore,watching dark nothing break in two and becometiny globs of light.The soft white foam creepsupon the smooth beige landto darken it but for a moment,only to retreat back to itsblackened home and hide among the vastness.The silver moon smiles openly,casting a healthy grinupon the rippled water below,sending gifts of silverto float on seas of woe.”

“Sea horses have complicated routines for courtship, and tend to mate under full moons, making musical sounds while doing so. They live in long-term monogamous partnerships. What is perhaps most unusual, though, is that it is the male sea horse that carries the young for up to six weeks. Males become properly "pregnant," not only carrying, but fertilizing and nourishing the developing eggs with fluid secretions. The image of males giving birth is perpetually mind-blowing: a turbid liquid bursts forth from the brood pouch, and like magic, minuscule but fully formed sea horses appear out of the cloud.”

“I had waited so long to touch him. I was like a kid in a candy store. I backed him into the cabinets and pressed myself against his lean body. Gabe was breathing hard and he grinned.“Goodness, Purdie Magee.”"What?" I said."I'm a little surprised."I took his hands into my own and kissed his palms then his fingers. I placed his hands on my hips and pushed a little harder against the part of him that made us significantly different and he took it from there.”