“The world's decay where the wind's hands have passed, And my head, worn out with love, at rest In my hands, and my hands full of dust.”

“Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd.Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mixed with Gods, his lov'd idea lies:O write it not, my hand - the name appearsAlready written - wash it out, my tears!In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeyes.”

“In a second-hand bookshop head to the back, find the old books with dust undisturbed and worn off covers for these clothe true treasures.”

“She places her hands around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder. I can smell the sex on her, and my hope is that she can smell the love on me.”

“I make my hand my whole world. Hand hand hand hand. I push through the sand and light and heat, and with every bit of strength I have in me, I squeeze back.”

“Once I am dead, there will be no lack of pious hands to throw me over the railing; my grave will be the fathomless air; my body will sink endlessly and decay and dissolve in the wind generated by the fall, which is infinite.”