My body had become that of an old liar, and my most spontaneous transports had begun to end in calculated maneuverings and delayed deliveries. It was no longer a question of self-esteem or pride; when I thought of breaking up with her, it was not to avoid some sort of discomfiture: it was a question of authenticity. I loved Laura too much to drag myself along on crutches in the wake of our love.

მითხრა, სიყვარულში დანაშაულებრივი არაფერია, დამნაშავე არავინააო...

A woman you love, yes, of course. But sometimes one loves a woman... with anger, as though she were a means of possessing the world. Or a musical instrument on which to play loud martial music...

I was angry at her, so angry — there is no greater weakness than to be in love with someone, to be at the mercy of it.

-I love you, Lenny.-From the diaphragm.-What are you talking about?-You have to say it from the diaphragm. That's a muscle in here. Real deep, not from the throat. I tried to be an actor once and that's the first thing they told me. That's when I quit. I just didn't have that much in my diaphragm.

Perhaps, there was something missing in me, a lack of empathy without which even love and happiness are merely a part of that struggle toward championship.

Not that I would describe fidelity as an exclusive contract, but rather a mutual devotion within shared assumptions. [...] She was greatly distressed, clearly more distressed than my condition warranted, and explained to me that when she was called and told of my accident she had been on the point of going to bed with a friend of mine. She left without a word to come to my side. That is what I mean by fidelity: putting love before pleasure.

Не знам нищо за утрешния ден, Мишел. Нямам такива луксозни навици. Изградена съм от малки днешни дни.

حتی در ترانه های شکسپیر هم اثری از اُمّید نیست، چون در آن زمان سیفیلیس بیداد می کرد. اندوه عمیق نهفته در ترانه های شکسپیر از آنجاست که در آن روزها «عشق» همیشه با سیفیلیس متداعی بود. هفتاد درصد مردم به آن مبتلا بودند. زنگ عمیق اشعار عاشقانه به همین دلیل بود. چون عاقبتش دیوانگی بود یا کوری و هیچ علاجی هم نداشت. «عشق» چیزی بود فوق العاده «مهم»، درست مثل «مرگ» و «زندگی». امروز «عشق» اهمیت تراژیک خود را از دست داده است چون حسابش از «کوفت» جدا شده است