I believe all sin, love, glory are this: when you slide down the knotted sheets, escaping from Gestapo headquarters, and she hugs you, there, suspended, and she whispers that she's always dreamed of you. The rest is just sex, copulation, the perpetuation of the vile species.
Umberto EcoNothing is more fleeting than external form, which withers and alters like the flowers of the field at the appearance of autumn.
Umberto Eco