“Sometimes when his hands are on me I say to my lonesome self, ‘Laura Welch, this is not The Dread Spirit who is touching you, it’s just dear, dear Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky,’ and he puts his whiskery mouth close to my ear and he hisses, ‘Sinner!’ He knows, he’s the only one who knows what that word means! SINNER! I like children! I really, really do! 600,000? Jesus Christ. A year from now, in what pit of hell will I awake!? I was a Democrat when I was a girl! This is what great literature can do! He weeps as he rattles me. I never shall be chaste except he ravish me. And I am rattled till my screws come loose, I am rattled like, like…the way, when I am in a mood, I attack and scour a sooty pot.”
-Laura Bush in Tony Kushner’s Only We Who Guard The Mystery Shall Be Unhappy
“Batter my heart, three-person’d God; for you
As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp’d town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth’d unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.”
-John Donne, “Holy Sonnett XIV”