“The Prelude to Tristan and Isolde reminds me of the old Italian painting of a martyr whose intestines are slowly unwound from his body on a reel.”

“Silva reminds me of the old Desailly.”

“He willed his body to remain unaffected. Sabin would fuss if Strider sported a hard-on around his precious. And, of course, "fuss" meant Strider would find his intestines wrapped around his neck, breathing a thing of the past.”

“What is our life but a succession of preludes to that unknown song whose first solemn note is sounded by death?”

“How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.”

“Still reeling from the buzzing of German-designed appliances, and desperately trying to find a stall that served coffee and muffins instead of edible knickers and herbal elixirs, I watched bemused at the Sexpo as the craggy Pricasso dipped his dangly bit into paint and dabbed at a piece of paper on the easel.”

“This kind of reminds me of the time my grandfather gave me his old golf clubs."
"Yeah, except you never use those."
"And I hope you never have to use that.”

“Martyrs do not underrate the body, they allow it to be elevated on the cross. In this they are at one with their antagonists.”

“The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling.”

“At first I felt dizzy - not with the kind of dizziness that makes the body reel but the kind that's like a dead emptiness in the brain, an instinctive awareness of the void.”