Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated, arranged and selected. I am a victim of it then, not a master.

So I kiss him, and there is the great dark sea ahead.

The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.

I began to see why woman-haters could make such fools of women. Woman-haters were like gods: invulnerable and chock full of power. They descended, and then they disappeared. You could never catch one.

I felt wise and cynical as all hell.

I like you, but not too much. I don’t want to like anybody too much.

It was my first big chance, but here I was, sitting back and letting it run through my fingers like so much water.