Why is it that words like these seem dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?

My body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.

His heart danced upon her movements like a cork upon a tide. He heard what her eyes said to him from beneath their cowl and knew that in some dim past, whether in life or revery, he had heard their tale before.

Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not.

You made me confess the fears that I have. But I will tell you also what I do not fear. I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake and perhaps as long as eternity too.

and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.