“My hands are numb. I can’t feel my face. My tongue be­longs to some­body else.”

“So let my hands and my face make their way in this world, let my hungry eyes see, my tongue taste.”

“I will cling to the rope God has thrown me in Jesus Christ, even when my numb hands can no longer feel it.”

“What is it about Paris that I just can’t keep my hands off of you?” I ask him in between kisses.“It has nothing to do with Paris and everything to do with my raw sexuality, baby. I’m fucking irresistible,” he growls just before he shoves his tongue down my throat. I can’t argue with that.”

“I see using my other senses. I can smell the rain before it drops, but I can’t watch it fall. I can feel the sun on my face, but I can’t see it rise or set. I want to see the world like everyone else, to see the sun, the rain, the music. Oh I bet music looks beautiful.”

“But I must pay attention now, she thinks, because what other choice is there? Maybe when I die my soul will fly to meet God, but when that time comes I won't have the use of clever hands, nor the burden of an ugly face; hands and face will be planted like bulbs in the soil, while only the bloom of the spirit emerges elsewhere. So let my hands and my face make their way in the world, let my hungry eyes see, my tongue taste.”