“The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hand to touch. Vaguely, I can see you face looking down into me, as I look back. Do you see my eyes?”

“You have a wild-eyed look, my Beth. What do yousee?”“Don’t look at me,” she cried, now utterly unhinged.“Don’t look into my eyes when you can see everything in them, and I am not able to look into yours and see anything!”

“You want to kiss me now,Matthew. I can see it in the look in your eyes.""I want to do considerably more than kiss you." He grinned wickedly. "And that too you should see in my eyes.”

“You think I am afraid to love you, ma fee? Look at me, my only love, and see how you hold my heart in your hands, see how much I love you when you look into my eyes.”

“Those images were the world, and it stewed in her as she sat with the lovely books and their manicured titles. It brewed in her as she eyed the pages full to the brims of their bellies with paragraphs and words. You bastards, she thought. You lovely bastards. Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think something good can come from any of this. Look at my bruises. Look at this graze. Do you see the graze inside me? Do you see it before your very eyes, eroding me? I don't want to hope for anything anymore.”

“It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,' he answered. 'Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?”