“And as he went about arranging and as he sat talking there seemed something false about him and out of tune.Watching him unknown she said to herself there was no stability about him. He was when he was in one mood. And now he looked paltry and insignificant. There was nothing stable about him. Her husband had more manly dignity. At any rate he did not waft about with any wind. There was something evanescent about Morel she thought something shifting and false. He would never make sure ground for any woman to stand on. She despised him rather for his shrinking together getting smaller. Her husband at least was manly and when he was beaten gave in. but this other would never own to being beaten. He would shift round and round, get smaller.”

“He ground his teeth together, the torture of it almost more than he could bear.The urge to pull her to him was overwhelming, but to do that would cost him dearly, for no doubt she would run out the door, damning him with every step.This was Lorelei, the artist, and she didn't see him as a man. Right now, he was about as human as the ridiculous fruit she'd painted in the past. And if he played along with her wants, perhaps she'd let him show her his...banana.”

“A story once went the rounds of Israel to the effect that Ben-Gurion described me as 'the only man' in his cabinet. What amused me about is that he (or whoever invented the story) thought that this was the greatest compliment that could be paid to a woman. I very much doubt that any man would have been flattered if I had said about him that he was the only woman in the government!”

“Could she kiss him? Would he allow her that? Was that something he could pretend was nothing? What about making love? Could she just open up her legs and pull him inside her and have him all she wanted and later give her assent that it was nothing?”

“On Chesil Beach he could have called out to Florence, he could have gone after her. He did not know, or would not have cared to know, that as she ran away from him, certain in her distress that she was about to lose him, she had never loved him more, or more hopelessly, and that the sound of his voice, would have been a deliverance, and she would have turned back.”

“Sometimes Sarah would be up and about and when she saw Pete she would let something slip.He would walk into the kitchen to say hello and she would say, ‘Do you think whoever has him knows that he likes to read about space? Do you think they know he loves pasta but hates corn?’They were random questions. Pete tried to answer at first but then he realised that Sarah wasn’t really talking to him. She was simply voicing out loud the questions that went through her head every day, all day, tormenting her. 'Do they know he likes Vegemite toast for breakfast?’‘Do they know how he likes his scrambled eggs?’‘Are they making sure he has his milk every day?’‘Are they keeping him warm?’‘Are they being kind to him?’‘Is he going to school?’‘Do they know he hates to be tickled?’‘Are they hurting him? Are they hurting my little boy?’What could he say to that? Pete said nothing. He hung his head and waited for her to stop asking questions.”