He kissed her cheek. She could feel for herself how cold and sweaty her skin was. 'Lucy you darling bobbasheely,' he coaxed her, 'there's nothing for you to be afraid of. Nothing! It's the naturalest thing in the world. And I love you, there's no question about that.'

In that essay, Said distinguishes between exile, refugee, expatriate and émigré.

Much work of this kind has been appearing of late, especially made by women, so locked into formerly cryptosexist methodologies and iconographies is this art.

But as in landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God — so better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land!