His heart danced upon her movements like a cork upon a tide. He heard what her eyes said to him from beneath their cowl and knew that in some dim past, whether in life or revery, he had heard their tale before.

Always see a fellows weak point in his wife.

A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk.

He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.

To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life.

What did it avail to pray when he knew his soul lusted after its own destruction?

You can still die when the sun is shining.