“It is feared that it may be the smallpox, sir," replied Porthos... "and what is serious is that it will certainly spoil his face.”

“If there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples. I'll love your face no matter what it looks like. Because it's yours.”

“May I know your name, sir?"The smile rearranged his face under the terrible scars. "Nezahualcoyotl. Michel Nezahualcoyotl. Charmed.”

“Porthos: He thinks he can challenge the mighty Porthos with a sword... D'Artagnan: The mighty who? Porthos: Don't tell me you've never heard of me. D'Artagnan: The world's biggest windbag? Porthos: Little pimple... meet me behind the Luxembourg at 1 o'clock and bring a long wooden box. D'Artagnan: Bring your own... Porthos: [laughs]”

“Your life, sir, is propelledBy a dream of the fear of having nightmares; your loveIs the fear of being alone; your world's historyThe fear of a possible leap by a possible antagonistOut of a possible shadow, or a not-improbableSkeleton out of your dead-certain cupboard.”

“magic persists without usno matter what we may do to try to spoil it”