Why is the measure of love... loss? pg.9 - Jeanette Winterson

Somewhere between fear and sex passion is. The way there is sudden. The way out is worse.

Every journey conceals another journey within its lines: the path not taken and the forgotten angle.

I went outside, tripping over slabs of sunshine the size of towns. The sun was like a crowd of people, it was a party, it was music. The sun was blaring through the walls of the houses and beating down the steps. The Sun was drumming time into the stone. The sun was rhythming the day. (p. 197)