She thought she was independent and strong, but she got one small taste of love and she was hungrier than anyone. She was ravenous.

Sex could be a blissful communion,. But it could also be a weapon, and its absence, sometimes, was required for the establishment of peace.

His distress and pleasure mixed and married, giving birth to several anxious children.

She perched on her windowsill, gazing at the lurid sun soaking into the Caldera, trying to appreciate it even though she couldn’t have it. Why did she always feel she had to do something in the face of beauty?

What you leave behind is the people you loved. You leave yourself in them.

Maybe there is more truth in how you feel than in what actually happens.

Maybe they would look at each other and feel some odd yearning, but neither of them would know why. They would want to stop, but they would be embarrassed, and neither would know what to say. They would go their separate ways. Who knew? Maybe that happened every day to people who'd once loved each other.