“Ravishment of this slender body in all ways possible before draining it of the life substance? Aren't you a pleasure hoarder, my dear?”

“Just for a fleeting split second his mind let go of its desperate chant: Nobody can hear me here, and replaced it with a glorious, admirable, proud: Morituri te salutant.”

“I am reminded, now, of Leonardo's advice to painters: You should fix your eyes, he says, on certain walls stained with damp. You will see in these the likenesses of divine landscapes, adorned with mountains, ruins, rocks, extensive plains; and you will see there battles and strange figures engaged in violent actions. For in such walls the same thing happens as in the sound of church bells, in whose reverberations you may find every word imaginable.”

“My dear girl, you must cultivate a taste for the finer things. Civilized pleasures give meaning to life.”

“The artist is a collector. Not a hoarder, mind you, there's a difference: Hoarders collect indiscriminately, artists collect selectively. They only collect things that they really love.”

“All my life is changing every day in every possible way.”

“Desire is oblivious to time and place, dear Mary. I want you, Mary. Please trust me, my sweet. Let me show you the ways of love.”She stared back at him, her body filled with the want he had described, but common sense held her surrender at bay.“Love? Don’t speak of love to me. You describe meaningless pleasure. It has nothing to do with love!”He gave her a roguish smile. “Pleasure is never meaningless, my sweet.”