“...with a grief no less sharp for not being intimate with its object.”

“He had never wanted to know anything about the part of her intimate life that he had not shared with her. Why should he take an interest now, still less take offense at it? Anyhow, he asked himself, what is an intimate secret? Is that where we hide what's most mysterious, most singular, most original about a human being? Are her intimate secrets what make Chantal the unique being he loves? No. What people keep secret is the most common, the most ordinary, the most prevalent thing, the same thing that everybody has: the body and its needs, its maladies, its manias-constipation for instance, or menstruation. We ashamedly conceal these intimate matters not because they are so personal but on the contrary, they are so lamentably impersonal.”

“...[F]riendship is a method of castration that doesn't use a sharp object.”

“The things that we preceive as beautiful may be different, but the actual characteristics we ascribe to beautiful objects are similar. Think about it. When something strikes us as beautiful, it displays more presence and sharpness of shape and vividness of color, doesn't it? It stands out. It shines. It seems almost iridescent compared to the dullness of other objects less attractive.”

“This," said Laurent, "is a little more—"It was a word of sharp points: "—intimate," he said, "than ice." "Too intimate?" Damen said. Slowly, he was kneading Laurent's shoulders.He did not usually think of himself as someone with suicidal impulses.”

“Well," I said. "If you need me, I'll be outside, playing with sharp objects.”