This side of the human form exhales a communicative warmth. As they kiss he imagines the green eyes seeking out his own. This commonplace cycle of falling asleep and waking, in darkness, under private cover, with another creature, a pale soft tender mammal, putting faces together in a ritual of affection, briefly settled in the eternal necessities of warmth, comfort, safety, crossing limbs to draw nearer - a simple daily consolation, almost too obvious, easy to forget by daylight.
- Ian McEwan, 'Saturday'
Who am I? A question for the ages. And if no man before me has produced an answer of any worth on a post-philosophical scale, than I shan't, in vain and egotistical hope, spend time attempting such an answer myself.