“I am not asking for sensational revelations, but I would like to sense the meaning of that minute, to feel it's urgency...”

“Hello?” I ask. No one is there. Not a word. Not a whisper. Not a single sound resonating from the other side of the receiver. “Hello? Anyone there?” I ask again. Repeating myself. I am beginning to feel rather anxious now. Scared, would be a better word to use. Shivers have begun to creep up my spinal cord, and I can feel the urgency of goose pimples begin to line up on by frightened pale skin.”

“. . . and that revelation murdered all that I once did know. Where once I asked of the God, 'Who are you?' now I ask, 'Who am I?”

“Without a sense of urgency, desire loses its value.”

“And then I realized I was high. I loved the sensation. It felt like medicine to soothe the soul and awaken the senses. There was nothing awkward or scary-I didn't feel like I had lost control-in fact, I felt like I was in control.”

“I make love like a half an hour minus 27 minutes. If you’re as bad in bed as I am in math, that’s roughly four minutes. And I do mean rough.”