But I don’t think she way vying for “the five best paragraphs ever written in English”

I got this off the net:

—Shush my darling, she said with her finger to her lips – you’ll wake up the entire hotel.

—Gabby?

—Sorry baby, gut reaction. But now you know how it feels.

—How what feels? his voice still trembling from the pain.

—Well for starters: Here we are, you and I, alone together in a relatively nice hotel room, if one can ignore the botanical wallpaper, without the kids, just the two of us, finally free from all that shit out there. And tonight at the reception when they played A Thousand Miles Away and we danced with each other and I thought to hell with all these people because it’s after all just the two of us … and 20 minutes ago I was feeling pretty horny – I can hardly move my eyelids, but I was keeping them wide for you, baby – I was feeling horny for you, and that was the only thing keeping me awake and you – it turns out, are a thousand miles away, or ten thousand, thinking about some girl you couldn’t get it up for 20 years ago. You get it now?

—But it has nothing to do with us.

—Oh really? Nothing to do with us? Wasn’t it we who are shallow, cowardly, circumstantial? Phonies, fakes, hypocrites? Wasn’t it we you meant?

—No, not you Gabby.

—What are we, Garett? We are what we see and smell and touch: that’s our world. And beauty – it’s our judge and our judgment. And it also happens to be how I make my living – our living I might add. I work on that shallow, superficial, skin-deep surface you are slamming. Appearances, packaging, that’s my trade – and guess what: it’s for real. Reality is on that surface. And all that da da da fire sermon shit is a bunch of pretentious hot-air crap; an abyss – a void. You can’t go there and you can’t live there. We ain’t Buddhas, baby – we’re consumers. We consume and then we die. In the profound words of the waitress: Enjoy! And for god sakes, stop moping about it.

She sat on the bed, plucking at a lone strand of hair on her thigh – an escapee from her last wax job. Garett stared at the ceiling. Tears now rounded his cheeks falling to his pillow. My poor darling, we are all circumstance – by birth, by fate. Of course it’s not fair. Power’s not fair. Wealth is not fair. Beauty? No way José. Only death is fair. Death trumps all and beauty, yes. But whats’ the big deal, Garett? We’re only snowflakes, butterflies with our little ephemeral moments of glory – our circumstantial, ephemeral moments. And then …

She laid herself flat-out on the bed so close to her husband that she could feel his warmth but not touching, and closed her eyes. Slumberous flakes of snow, silver and dark, fell over her body, Garett’s body, and all the sleeping and sleepless bodies of the Hotel Boulderado. It truly was snowing everywhere. Snowflakes from stars and moons everywhere falling like comets or dust or nothing. Falling on us all. Falling upon the beautiful and the ugly, the real and the counterfeit, the living and the dead.