“President Bartlet: There's a delegation of cardiologists having their pictures taken in the Blue Room. You wouldn't think you could find a group of people more arrogant than the fifteen of us, but there they are, right upstairs in the Blue Room.”

“How do you know, when you think blue — when you say blue — that you are talking about the same blue as anyone else?You cannot get a grip on blue.Blue is the sky, the sea, a god’s eye, a devil’s tail, a birth, a strangulation, a virgin’s cloak, a monkey’s ass. It’s a butterfly, a bird, a spicy joke, the saddest song, the brightest day.Blue is sly, slick, it slides into the room sideways, a slippery trickster.This is a story about the color blue, and like blue, there’s nothing true about it. Blue is beauty, not truth. ‘True blue’ is a ruse, a rhyme; it’s there, then it’s not. Blue is a deeply sneaky color.”

“Music is feeling, then not sound;And thus it is what i feel,Here in this room, desiring you,Thinking of your blue- shadowed silk Is music. It is like the strainWaked in elders...”

“You have to drive! You think I trust that big blue knucklehead to get us there?”

“Death is no more than passing from one room into another. But there's a difference for me, you know. Because in that other room I shall be able to see.”

“I've given lots of people chances," she said suddenly, as if Marion was still in the room to hear us. "But there's only so much faith you can have in people.”