“He should have left long ago. He actually did once – or nearly did, but Zelda pulled him back. Not that he needed any persuasion with her warm, welcoming body the ultimate Nirvana and his libido operating within the very narrow range of sex, sex, and more sex.”

“Sex talk? You mean the bee and the flower sex conversation? Your parents should have taken care of that a long time ago. Mine did."She elbowed him. "No, you bozo, I meant the safe-sex conversation where the bee explains in detail to the flower how he's always worn a raincoat while buzzing around, and how he'd never gotten entangled with dubious pollen.”

“His eyes were slitted and intense, like he might need to have sex at any moment.”

“He wonders if words aren't an essential element of sex, if talking isn't finally a more subtle form of touching, and if the images dancing in our heads aren't just as important as the bodies we hold in our arms. Margot tells him that sex is the one thing in life that counts for her, that if she couldn't have sex she would probably kill herself to escape the boredom and monotony of being trapped inside her own skin. Walker doesn't say anything, but as he comes into her for the second time, he realizes that he shares her opinion. He is mad for sex. Even in the grip of the most crushing despair, he is mad for sex. Sex is the lord and the redeemer, the only salvation on earth.”

“...insofar as an American thinks that the sex he or she is having is an intimate, private thing constructed within a space governed by personal consent, she or he is having straight sex, straight sex authorized by national culture; she or he is practicing national heterosexuality...”

“What was that?" "Really excellent sex." "You were trying to sex me into submission." "Did it work?" A lazy grin as he turned to look at her. "I was just trying to be me.”