And they did have fun, though it was of different kind now. All that yearning and passion had been replaced by a steady pulse of pleasure and satisfaction and occasional irritation, and this seemed to be a happy exchange; if there had been moments in her life when she had been more elated, there had never been a time when things had been more constant.

Oh you know me. I have no emotions. I'm a robot. Or a nun. A robot nun.

Why can’t you just love me? Why can’t you just be in love with me?

It's the face itself that I love, not that face at twenty-eight or thirty-four or forty-three. It's that face.

The city had defeated her, just like they said it would. Like some overcrowded party, no one had noticed her arrival, and would notice if she left.

He has found himself more and more reliant on her at exactly the point that she has become less available to him.

Of course you should study whatever you want. The written appreciation and understanding of literature, or any kind of artistic endeavour, is absolutely central to a decent society. Why d'you think books are the first things that the fascists burn?