“se there was a matter of half a ream of brown paper stuck upon me, from first to last. As I laid all of a heap in our kitchen, plastered all over, you might have thought I was a large brown-paper parcel, chock full of nothing but groans. Did I groan loud, Wackford, or did I groan soft?' asked Mr Squeers, appealing to his son.”

“You’re bleeding all over my couch.” I groaned. “Excuse the hell out of me.”

“I groaned to myself, well at least I hope I groaned to myself, I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure I just didn’t open my mouth and let that groan come out.”

“I want you, Cam.”“You have me,” he groaned. “You so fucking have me.”

“But in all that suffering, the most painful suffering of all was the consciousness that it was all banal, had all been discovered a long time ago, and was known to all the generations past, all just a repeated series, stamped out by our genes. That the universe was filled to its edges with groans as alike as two notes, that those particular groans formed one great groan similar to the shrill parliament of the sparrows and that groan became an interstellar roar, the inaudible groan of the aging cosmos.”

“How could you afford to buy me those shoes today?Flushed, he groans into my ear, "You made me.""I did not.""You made me love you.”