“Wine me, dine me, Deep Space Nine me.”
“Then wine me, dine me and sixty-nine me,” she growled. “Feel free to reverse the order.”
“What haunts me is not exactly the absence of literal space so much as a deep craving for metaphorical space: release, escape, some kind of open-ended freedom.”
“What kind of dining set defines me as a person?”
“Either give me more wine or leave me alone.”
“Give me wine to wash me clean of the weather-stains of cares”