“One afternoon Clairaut came over to me with a book in his hand: “Mademoiselle de Beauvoir,” he began, in an inquisitorial tone, “what do you make of Brochard who is of the opinion that Aristotle’s God would be able to experience sexual pleasure?” Herbaud cast him a disdainful look: “I should hope so, for his sake,” he haughtily replied.”

“And I may not omit here a special work of God's providence. There was a proud and very profane young man [aboard the Mayflower], one of the seamen, of a lusty, able body, which made him the more haughty; he would always be contemning the poor people in their [sea]sickness, and cursing them daily with grievous execrations, and did not let to tell them, that he hoped to help cast half of them overboard before they came to their journey's end, and to make merry with what they had; and if he were by any gently reproved, he would curse and swear most bitterly.But it pleased God before they came half seas over, to smite this young man with a grievous disease, of which he died in a desperate manner, and so was himself the first that was thrown overboard. Thus his curses light on his own head; and it was an astonishment to all his fellows, for they noted it to be the just hand of God upon him.”

“Andras Riedlmayer described a colleague who survived the siege of Sarajevo. In the winter, the scholar and his wife ran out of firewood, and so began to burn their books for heat and cooking. 'This forces one to think critically,' Riedlmayer remembered his friend saying. 'One must prioritize. First you burn old college textbooks, which you haven't read in thirty years. Then there are the duplicates. But eventually, you're forced to make tougher choices. Who burns today: Dostoevsky or Proust?' I asked Riedlmayer if his friend had any books left when the war was over. 'Oh yes,' he replied, his face lit by a flickering smile. 'He still had many books. Sometimes, he told me, you look at the books and just choose to go hungry.”

“You need a job and I need a PA, why don’t you come and work for me?”“No thanks, God knows what being your PA would involve.”He laughs. “Well it would involve the usual, faxing, filing, answering the phones, takingbookings, relieving my sexual needs, etcetera.”“Yeah I thought as much.” I tell him, my tone doing all the rejecting for me.“Seriously though, the offer stands. Think it over.” He tells me in a soft voice.“I don’t have PA experience.”“I’ll teach you,” he says, in a tone that insinuates other things.“Sure.”He lowers his voice. “I think I’d enjoy teaching you things.”“Can’t say I w-would enjoy it.” Yeah, right.“You stuttered,” he says”

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he said.I placed my hands flat on the table and leaned across it. "Stay the hell away from him.""Who? Oh, you mean the guy who's gonna bite it soon?" "He's not. He's going to be fine."He reached a hand out and placed it over my own. I snatched my hand back. He shook his head at me and whispered, "You can't stop it.""Watch me.”

“For Christ's sake, Ian, he was stealing your cash! I hope you at least wore a raincoat, you feel me?Ian blinked. Why would I want a raincoat, Joel? I was having sex.Joel put his face in his hands, closed his eyes tight, and prayed that when he looked up and opened then Ian would be kidding.He wasn't”