“Hinged to forgetfulness like a door,she slowly closed out of sight,and she was the woman I loved,but too many times she slept likea mechanical deer in my caresses,and I ached in the metal silenceof her dreams.”

“I will be very careful the next time I fall in love, she told herself. Also, she had made a promise to herself that she intended on keeping. She was never going to go out with another writer: no matter how charming, sensitive, inventive or fun they could be. They weren't worth it in the long run. They were emotionally too expensive and the upkeep was complicated. They were like having a vacuum cleaner around the house that broke all the time and only Einstein could fix it. She wanted her next lover to be a broom.”

“Yukiko rolled over.That plain, that simple.Her body was small in its moving.And her hair followed, dreaming her as she moved.A cat, her cat, in bed with her was awakened by her moving, and watched her turn slowly over in bed. When she stopped moving, the cat went back to sleep.It was a black cat and could have been a suburb of her hair.”

“Vida was sound asleep when I went back to my room. I turned on the light and it woke her up. She was blinking and her face had that soft marble quality to it that beautiful women have when they are suddenly awakened and are not quite ready for it yet. "What's happening?" she said. "It's another book," she replied, answering her own question. "Yes," I said. "What's it about?" she said automatically like a gentle human phonograph. "It's about growing flowers in hotel rooms.”

“Your Catfish FriendIf I were to live my lifein catfish formsin scaffolds of skin and whiskersat the bottom of a pondand you were to come by one eveningwhen the moon was shiningdown into my dark homeand stand there at the edge of my affectionand think, “It's beautifulhere by this pond. I wish somebody loved me,”I'd love you and be your catfishfriend and drive such lonelythoughts from your mindand suddenly you would be at peace,and ask yourself, “I wonderif there are any catfishin this pond? It seems likea perfect place for them.”

“I feel horrible. She doesn'tlove me and I wander aroundthe house like a sewing machine that's just finished sewing a turd to a garbage can lid.”

“Excuse me, I said. I thought you were a trout stream.I'm not, she said.”