“i)We are hard on each otherand call it honesty,choosing our jagged truthswith care and aiming them acrossthe neutral table.The things we say are true; it is our crooked aims, our choicesturn them criminal.ii)Of course your liesare more amusing:you make them new each time.Your truths, painful and boringrepeat themselves over & over perhaps because you ownso few of themiii)A truth should exist,it should not be usedlike this. If I love youis that a fact or a weapon?iv)Does the body liemoving like this, are these touches, hairs, wet soft marble my tongue runs overlies you are telling me?Your body is not a word,it does not lie or speak truth either.It is onlyhere or not here.”

“A truth should exist,it should not be usedlike this. If I love youis that a fact or a weapon?”

“What fabrications they are, mothers. Scarecrows, wax dolls for us to stick pins into, crude diagrams. We deny them an existence of their own, we make them up to suit ourselves -- our own hungers, our own wishes, our own deficiencies.”

“Karen wasn't hard, she was soft, too soft. A soft touch. Her hair was soft, her smile was soft, her voice was soft. She was so soft there was no resistance. Hard things sank into her, they went right through her, and if she made a real effort, out the other side. Then she didn't have to see them or hear them, or even touch them.”

“What are we do to? The child sex trade is not for us: our children are unattractive and rude, and - due to the knowledge of our history - have a bad habit of mugging prospective customers and shoving them over cliffs.”

“You couldn’t leave words lying around where our enemies might find them.”

“Sleeping in your clothes makes you tired. The clothes are crumpled, and also your body underneath them. I feel as if I've been rolled into a bundle and thrown on the floor.”