...seeing the way his trousers clung to those most English parts.

What your mind sees when you close your eyes marks the entrance to an endless universe: your imagination.

This apartment, which you no doubt profanely suppose to be the shop of Will Wimble the undertaker --a man whom we know not, and whose plebeian appellation has never before this night thwarted our royal ears --this apartment, I say, is the Dais-Chamber of our Palace, devoted to the councils of our kingdom, and to other sacred and lofty purposes.

His was a great sin who first invented consciousness. Let us lose it for a few hours.

The here and the beyond are enough, but there were a few angels for whom it was not enough: who demanded a third dimension--who sought fusions, communes, who ate each other and created sex.

Can I kiss you?_ And she would let him, lightly on her lips, a moment of brief anticipation. __our kisses are like sugar woman._ He would tell her affectionately. __o sweet._ He would close in on her and then ask softly, __lease spend the night with me.