Love is the absolute killer
"Do you want to know thy best, most effec-tive transmitter of contagion known to man?"
Edgerton asks me this with a pinprick of mad light dancing in each iris.
It's love. Love is the absolute killer. Care. The milk of human kindness. People try so hard to save the people the love they end up catching the contagion themselves. They give comfort, deliver aid, and in doing so they acquire the infection. Then those people are cared for by others and they get infected. On and on it goes. He shrugs. But that's people. People care too much. They love at all costs. And so they pay the ultimate price.
I don't know the question, but sex is definitely the answer.
My love keeps growing more passionate and egoistic, while his is waning and waning, and that's why we're drifting apart."
She went on musing.
"And there's no help for it. He is everything for me, and I want him more and more to give himself up to me entirely. And he wants more and more to get away from me. We walked to meet each other up to the time of our love, and then we have been irresistibly drifting in different directions. And there's no altering that."
A profile, a look, a voice, can capture a heart in no time at all.
A man reserves his true and deepest love not for the species of woman in whose company he finds himself electrified and enkindled, but for that one in whose company he may feel tenderly drowsy.
(…) nothing encourages sex the way sex does?
Yes. But I was speaking from a man's viewpoint
Works the same for a woman, twin. You'll see.
I hope so. I know that most people—in my day—assumed the opposite. But it's not true. Sex, whatever else it is—much else! —is an athletic skill. The more you practice, the more you can, the more you want to, the more you enjoy it, the less it tires you.