“A woman knows very well that, though a wit sends her his poems, praises her judgment, solicits her criticism, and drinks her tea, this by no means signifies that he respects her opinions, admires her understanding, or will refuse, though the rapier is denied him, to run through the body with his pen.”

“on him, under him, with his mouth pressed to hers, he sang to her uncouth songs that moved through her body.”

“She swallowed thick spurts of release with fierce hunger, her own moans rising to his ears, vibrating through his shaft. He bucked into her, thrust into her, pumped into her mouth until rhythm ceased to exist to him and his body was no longer his, but hers. Until his seed was drained of him, and her tongue washed him clean.Until he was lost to her. Christ, he was lost to her.”

“A man can love too.''No; -- hardly. He can admire, and he can like, and he can fondle and be fond. He can admire and approve, and perhaps worship. He can know of a woman that she is part of himself, the most sacred part, and therefore will protect her from the very winds. But all that will not make love. It does not come to a man that to be separated from a woman is to be dislocated from his very self. A man has but one centre, and that is himself. A woman has two. Though the second may never been seen by her, may live in the arms of another, may do all for that other that man can do for woman, -- still, still, though he be half the globe asunder from her, still he is to her the half of her existence. If she really love, there is, I fancy no end of it.”

“Vaguely she was aware of her moans floating across the backyard as her entire body tightened around him, then released, sending bits of her consciousness flying in all directions like the stars in the sky above. Her nails dug into his shoulder through his shirt as she anchored herself to him, as the orgasm pulsed through her. She felt the ripples of his own climax inside her, and then he collapsed over her, bringing both legs into the hammock and pulling her against his side.“Perfect,” he murmured, and in a few minutes, his breathing evened out.”

“Aye, though he loved her from his soul with such a self denying love as woman seldom wins; he spoke from first to last of Martin.”