“The Moonlight sonata is a strange piece of music. It's been called a Lamentation. You can feel that when you play it, can feel the sorrow and the endless repetitions. It's simple to play but maddeningly difficult to play well. The arpeggios allow great freedom of expression. Too much freedom in untutored, unskilled hands. They say Beethovan wrote it for a seventeen-year-old countess, the Countess Giulietta Guicciardi. He may have loved her.”

“You are my heart,” he said. He’d said those very words to her that morning. But that morning, they’d sounded affectionate and playful. Now he said them as if he were stating a fact of anatomy. “I will not lose you. I’m sending you away to keep you safe. Do you understand? Say ‘Yes, sir.’”Nora nodded and swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.”Yes, sir.”Soren bent his head and kissed her long and slow before pulling back.”

“It's not morning until you're awake. And it's not night until you're asleep in your bed under my roof. And I could go on and on but hope is a horrible thing, and I love you too much to give you any.”

“It's like a gay man being married to a straight woman. No matter how much he loves her, it's a sacrifice every moment they're together. The sex is secondary to the sacrifice.”

“What’s your favourite position?”“I usually play winger.”“Zach, I adore you, but you can’t make soccer jokes during phone sex. It just isn’t done.”

“Pourquoi?" Kingsley demanded. "Why? You take her every way you can, every chance you have. Why her and not me?"Soren hadn't replied, and for that Kingsley had been forever grateful. He knew the answer, but to hear it would have broken the one last unbroken part of his spirit.”

“Can I call you Mick? Michael's too formal. I'm not formal. You're lucky I've even got pants on today.”