I will take it all: tongs, molten lead, prongs, garrotes, all that burns, all that tears, I want to truly suffer. Better one hundred bites, better the whip, vitriol, than this suffering in the head, this ghost of suffering which grazes and caresses and never hurts enough.
We live in the great indoors: the vacuum cleaner grazes over the carpet, lowing, its udder a swollen wobble. SeeAusten 43:88.
Love is that orbit of the restless soulWhose circle grazes the confines of space,Bounding within the limits of its raceUtmost extremes.george henry boker