“If there's anything I look down on, it's a man in a blue outfit.”

“But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defensless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get.”

“So, now I shall talk every night. To myself. To the moon. I shall walk, as I did tonight, jealous of my loneliness, in the blue-silver of the cold moon, shining brilliantly on the drifts of fresh-fallen snow, with the myriad sparkles. I talk to myself and look at the dark trees, blessedly neutral. So much easier than facing people, than having to look happy, invulnerable, clever. With masks down, I walk, talking to the moon, to the neutral impersonal force that does not hear, but merely accepts my being. And does not smite me down.”

“I wanted to tell her that if only something were wrong with my body it would be fine, I would rather have anything wrong with my body than something wrong with my head, but the idea seemed so involved and wearisome that I didn’t say anything. I only burrowed down further in the bed.”

“I remember a blue eye,A briefcase of tangerines.”

“Who are you in love with?" I said then.For a minute Marco didn't say anything, he simply opened his mouth and breathed out a blue, vaporous ring."Perfect!" he laughed.The ring widened and blurred, ghost-pale on the dark air.Then he said, "I am in love with my cousin."I felt no surprise."Why don't you marry her?""Impossible.""Why?"Marco shrugged. "She's my first cousin. She's going to be a nun.""Is she beautiful?""There's no one to touch her.""Does she know you love her?""Of course."I paused. The obstacle seemed unreal to me."If you love her," I said, "you'll love somebody else someday.”

“I began to think vodka was my drink at last. It didn’t taste like anything, but it went straight down into my stomach like a sword swallowers’ sword and made me feel powerful and godlike.”