But I knew one more thing. That people w ho denied who they were or where they had been were in the greatest danger.

You must find a boy your own age. Someone mild and beautiful to be your lover. Someone who will tremble for your touch, offer you a marguerite by its long stem with his eyes lowered. Someone whose fingers are a poem.

I emitted some civetlike female stink, a distinct perfume of sexual wanting, that he had followed to find me here in the dark.

...You know the mistrust of heights is the mistrust of self, you don't know whether you're going to jump.

Love is a check, that can be forged, that can be cashed. Love is a payment that comes due.

Love could never bloom in a concrete block room.

She was not used to being cruel, but he had taught her how.