“جمع الكتب هو استحواذ، ومرض، وإدمان، وفتنة، وقدر. هو ليس بهواية. من يقوم بذلك فلأنه عليه القيام به. ومن لا يقوم بذلك، فيعتقد أنه شبيه بجمع الطوابع”

“Passion is sweeter split strand by strand. Divided and re-divided likemercury then gathered up only at the last moment.”

“What are you that makes me feel thus? Who are you for whom time has no meaning?”

“Who taught you to write in blood on my back? Who taught you to use your hands as branding irons? You have scored your name into my shoulders, referenced me with your mark. The pads of your fingers have become printing blocks, you tap a message on to my skin, tap meaning into my body.”

“I felt like a seed in a pomegranate. Some say that the pomegranate was the real apple of Eve, fruit of the womb, I would eat my way into perdition to taste you.”

“Now that I have lost you I cannot allow you to develop, you must be a photograph not a poem.”

“I can hold you up with one hand, but you can balance me on your fingertips.”