“I want to die on your chest but not yet she wrote sometime in the 13th century of our love”

“I’d like to play a game of Marco Polo—in the 13th century.”

“She beat lightly on his chest with her fists. "I want a partner, not a protector.""Can't I be both?""You're enormously exasperating sometimes, do you know that?"He grinned. "And you love me anyway.”

“Sometimes he wrote equations, or musical notation, sometimes he wrote in Latin; he refused to tell her what it was about. "Nothing," he said. "I have nothing important or original to say, yet I feel compelled to express myself, so I just write it down and let it go.”

“I have loved no part of the world like this and I have loved no women as I love you. You're my human Africa. I love your smell as I love these smells. I love your dark bush as I love the bush here, you change with the light as this place does, so that one all the time is loving something different and yet the same. I want to spill myself out into you as I want to die here.”

“I make love like the 13th floor is the 14th floor of a hotel. I give it that little extra that takes it to a whole new level.”