Don’t you think . . . that if I knew that it would have changed your mind . . . that I would have?

How about him? Do you see him? Do you know him? Call unto him. Touch him. He is not there. Because he does not exist, Judas. Rather, they must conjure him, and still he is but a vapor blown away by a hummingbird’s breath, He is false. He is a lie. He is not real. Touch him. Go ahead.

If a thousand strangers spit on me and kick me as they pass, I will smile. But if the brother of my heart gives me . only a passing hard look, then, Judas—I will not sleep that night, nor sleep—at all—till he will let me love him again,