He Kept recalling her lying on his bed; she reminded him of no one in his former life.

...[P]eople who shout joy from the rooftops are often the saddest of all... (p.24)

nothing yet. I've been waiting." "for what?" she made no response. she could not tell him that she had been waiting for him.

And I ran after that voice through the streets so as not to lose sight of the splendid wreath of bodies gliding over the city, and I realized with anguish in my heart that they were flying like birds and I was falling like a stone, that they had wings and I would never have any.

But which was the real me? Let me be perfectly honest: I was a man of many faces. (p.33)

To be mortal is the most basic human experience, and yet man has never been able to accept it, grasp it, and behave accordingly. Man doesn't know how to be mortal. And when he dies, he doesn't even know how to be dead.

In eroticism as dance: one of the partners is always charged with leading the other.