As I kissed her the heat of her body increased, and it exhaled a wild, untamed fragrance.

Sex is one's consolation when love is not enough

She would defend herself, saying that love, no matter what else it might be, was a natural talent. She would say: You are either born knowing how, or you never know.

Seeing him like this, dressed just for her in so patent a manner, she could not hold back the fiery blush that rose to her face. She was embarrassed when she greeted him, and he was more embarrassed by her embarrassment. The knowledge that they were behaving as if they were sweethearts was even more embarrassing, and the knowledge that they were both embarrassed embarrassed them so much that Captain Samaritano noticed it with a tremor of compassion.

Ultimately, literature is nothing but carpentry. With both you are working with reality, a material just as hard as wood.

Once again she shuddered with the evidence that time was not passing, as she had just admitted, but that it was turning in a circle.

He did not dare to console her, knowing that it would have been like consoling a tiger run thru by a spear.