“The conscience of my elusive race gives not a fig for me, baby. But I endure, if you know what I mean.”

“For the simplicity on this side of complexity, I wouldn't give you a fig. But for the simplicity on the other side of complexity, for that I would give you anything I have.”

“It's morning in Bethany and God is hungry God wants His breakfast. He comes to a fig tree. It's not the season for figs so the tree has no figs. God is peeved. The Son mutters "May you never bear fruit again " and instantly the fig tree withers. So says Matthew backed up by Mark. I ask you is it the fig tree's fault that it's not the season for figs What kind of thing is that to do to an innocent fig tree whither it instantly I couldn't get Him out of my head. Still can't. I spent three solid days thinking about Him. The more He bothered me the less I could forget Him. And the more I learned about Him the less I wanted to leave Him.”

“This is myself, baby. All of my selves. I own each and every one of them. I know who I'm pretending to be and who I am." The look he gives me is withering. "Do you?”

“I am in limbo, and in limbo there are no races, no prizes, no changes, no chances. There are merely degrees of endurance, and endurance never was my strong point.”

“I don't know what this feeling is... I only know that I feel safe in your arms. My heart races every time I see you, I can't catch my breath when I'm around you, and I'm on fire whenever you touch me...”