Movie: "The Tao of Steve"
Steve advises friend: "Women don't think about sex until 15 minutes after men do, so if you can hold out for 20 minutes, she'll be chasing you in 5."
Friend: "I don't think I can hold out that long."

"Seinlanguage" by Jerry Seinfeld
Seems to me the basic conflict between men and women is that men are like firemen. To us, sex is an emergency, and no matter what we're doing we can be ready in two minutes. Women, on the other hand, are like fire. They're very exciting but the conditions have to be exactly right for it to occur.

"The Story of No" by Lisa Tuttle
We stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. There aren't many times in life you get a second chance. I knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't take this one. I closed the door firmly behind me and walked into the rooom. When I was only a few feet away from him, standing in the full glow of the fire, I stopped, untied my kimino, and shrugged it off, enjoying the sensation as it slithered silkily down my naked body and settled on the floor, enjoying also the gleam in his eyes as he stared at me without speaking.

"Dreaming in Cuban" by Christina Garcia
The rain begins again, softly this time. The finned palms record each drop. Celia is ankle deep in the rising tide. The water is curiously warm, too warm for spring. She reaches down and removes her pumps, crimped and puckered now like her own skin, chalked and mishapen from the saltwater. She wades deeper into the ocean. It pulls on her housedress like weights on her hem. Her hands float on the surface of the sea, still clutching her shoes, as if they could take her to a new place.

"Prince of Tides" by Pat Conroy
"How much are you getting paid, Dr. Lowenstein?" I asked
"The money is inconsequential to me. I'm doing this for the sake of art."
"Oh sure!" I laughed. "A psychiatrist oblivious to money is like a sumo wrestler oblivious to body fat."
"You can laugh at me, Tom, and I don't give a damn if you do or not," she said. "You may even have superior insights into my motives and think that this is some ego trip where I can recontruct the psyche of the poet and make it whole again. I wish from the bottom of my heart to perform that service."
"And Savannah, cured by the magic laying on of hands, would write endless poems extolling the miraculous powers of the shrink who exorcised the demons who possessed her frail soul." I said.
"You're right, Tom," she said. "It would cast no small amount of credit on me if I could save her, if I can provide her the resources that will enable her to write again. But there's one thing you don't understand about me. I loved your sister's poetry long before I ever knew I would be her doctor. I loved it and still do. Just read her poems, Tom."