“All parts of his body, the circuit and flesh, required rest. Not that anything had gone wrong.”
“With his sunglasses gone and his scarf hanging down, there was no denying that he had no flesh, he had no skin, he had no eyes and he had no face. All he had was a skull for a head.”
“I curse this body that requires rest and sustenance. That is prime writing time right there!”
“My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.”
“Flesh, bodies, nerves, legs… things were getting all mixed up in his mind. It seemed to be filled with flesh, cloyed with the sweetish smell of flesh that is torn open and over which blood is pouring. It was his flesh, their flesh, lying about still alive, but dying, dying so slowly, dying so fast…”
“Had not enough gone wrong?”