“What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drumAnd the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd fife,Clamber not you up to the casements then,Nor thrust your head into the public streetTo gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces,But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements:Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter”

“Then I want you to run all of your words backward in your head and listen to them. Then put on my ears and listen to them again, and then tell me what you hear. -Lydia to Seth”

“My love for you won't stop with my leaving. Come an evening over the years, when you step outside your door and hear the wind blowing through the cottonwoods, that'll be me, thinking of you, whispering your name, and loving you.”

“What's that sound I hear? It's just my lifetimeIt's whistling past my ear”

“You’re mine,” I told him, kissing each of his eyes before I looked at him. “No one gets you anymore; no one touches you anymore. Right?”He nodded, and I felt his heated breath fan over my face. “Put me up against this wall.”“No.” I shook my head. “No one sees you but me. No one hears you but me. All of you, your skin, your smell, your cum, all of it is mine, and especially your voice when you scream my name.”

“Like the beach glass you guys always brought me. Sometimes I dump it out on my desk and press my ear to the pieces, trying to hear the ocean. Trying to hear you. ”