“O where are you going with your love-locks flowingOn the west wind bellowing along this valley track?”“The downhill path is easy, come with me an it please ye,We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.”So they two went together in glowing August weather,The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right;And dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seemed to float onThe air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight.“Oh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven,Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?”“Oh, that’s a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous,An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt>”“Oh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly,Their scent comes rich and sickly?” “A scaled and hooded worm.””Oh, what’s that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?”“Oh, that’s a thin dead body which waits the eternal term.”“Turn again, O my sweetest,--turn again, false and fleetest:This beaten way thou beatest, I fear is hell’s own track.”“Nay, too steep for hill mounting; nay, too late for cost counting:This downhill path is easy, but there’s no turning back.”

“Oh hang kitty; what has she to do with it? Come, be quick. Be quick. Where is your sash?”

“…We were born vampires.""I thought you became –""— vampires by being bitten? Dear me, no. Oh, we can turn people into vampires, it’s an easy technique, but what would be the point? When you eat… now what is it you eat? Oh yes, chocolate… you don’t want to turn it into another Agnes Nitt, do you? Less chocolate to go around."He sighed. "Oh dear, superstition, superstition everywhere we turn.”

“I turn my head a little. The radio's caroling "Tonight," velvety smooth and young and filled with plaintive desire. Maria's song from West Side Story. I remember one beautiful night long ago at the Winter Garden, with a beautiful someone beside me. I tilt my nose and breathe in, and I can still smell her perfume, the ghost of her perfume from long ago. But where is she now, where did she go, and what did I do with her?Our paths ran along so close together they were almost like one, the one they were eventually going to be. Thin fear came along, fear entered into it somehow, and split them wide apart.Fear bred anxiety to justify. Anxiety to justify bred anger. The phone calls that wouldn't be answered, the door rings that wouldn't be opened. Anger bred sudden calamity.Now there aren't two paths anymore; there's only one, only mine. Running downhill into the ground, running downhill into its doom.("New York Blues")”

“So I'll wait for you... And I'll burn Will I ever see your sweet return?Oh, will I ever learn?Oh, Lover, you should've come overCause it's not too late.”

“One of the two of us, thought Mosca, is in a lot of trouble right now. I wonder which of us it is? She isn’t turning pale or plucking at her handkerchief. Oh draggles, I think it’s me.”