All my parents gave me was their fumbly hands: I got their hands inside me to this day. - Edward Lewis Wallant

He had gone to several universities . . . and had found only curves and credits. He had become drunk on the idea of God and found only theology. He had risen several times on the subtle and powerful wings of lust, expectant of magnificence, achieving only discharge. A few times he had extended friendship with palpitating hope, only to find that no one quite knew what he had in mind. His solitude now was the result of his metabolism, that constant breathing in of joy and exhalation of sadness.

And then she saw, and was instantly destroyed in a way that would insist upon her living.

You gotta take your skin off, you gotta love so much that you go insane.