It may have done so, but it doesn't now." She also got to her feet, and Tarboe was so near her she could feel his hot breath on her cheek.
"No, it doesn't exist now," she repeated, "and the pursuer is not pursued.

You have more imagination than belongs to a mere man of business--you're an inexperienced poet." He caught her hand and drew it to his breast.

"The only poetry I know is the sound of your voice in the wind, the laughter of your lips in the sun, the delight of your body in the heavenly flowers.

Yes, I've drunk you in the wild woods; I've trailed you on the river; I've heard you in the grinding storm--always the same, the soul of all beautiful things.
Junia, you shall not put me away from you.

You shall be mine, and you and I together shall win our way to great ends.