“You common cry of curs! whose breath I hateAs reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prizeAs the dead carcasses of unburied menThat do corrupt my air, I banish you;And here remain with your uncertainty!”

“If a nuclear disaster occurred, and you had to live out those final painful days just stretched out somewhere thinking about your life--This is who I am. This is what I love. This is what I believe--who would you want hearing your whispers? Or perhaps better: Who do you trust to hear your whispers? Whose breath do you want mingled with your own? Whose flesh still warm beside you?”

“Are you still doing that crap?" I ask."You can't even do it properly," Eileen says."Just a matter of practice," Simone says."Wow! Practicing how to poison yourself and make your breath reek like the fart of a seagull!" Eileen cries.”

“I am your husband, I will keep you safe and I will do it by keeping my feet on this earth, breathing the air and being there to make you feel safe. Do you understand this?”

“I found this butterfly dead on our porch a few weeks ago. I have pressed it. It's one of those whose wing beats you loved best. You once said it reminded you of my heartbeat. None sounded sweeter.”

“You are everything to me, my sun, my moon, the air I breathe. Nothing exists except you. I love you.”