“Blushes and sighs are all very pretty, but soft words butter no parsnips.”

“This...this...thing?""A parsnip?" Jem suggested"A parsnip planted in satan's own garden," said Will. He glanced about. "I dont suppose there's a dog I could feed it to?""There dont seem to be any pets about," Jem-who loved animals, even the inglorious and ill-tempered Church-observed."Probably all poisened by parsnips," said Will.”

“What is this?” he went on now, spearing an unfortunate object on a fork and raising it to eye level. “This… this… thing?” “A parsnip?” Jem suggested.“A parsnip planted in Satan’s own garden.” said Will. He glanced about. “I don’t suppose there’s a dog I could feed it to.”“There don’t seem to be any pets about,” Jem—who loved all animals, even the inglorious and ill-tempered Church—observed.“Probably all poisoned by parsnips,” said Will.”

“Words once uttered, cannot be buttered, so season them all before you speak”

“Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression,And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft:And burning blushes, though for no transgression.”

“Damn, that werewolf melts my butter,” Mari sighed. “He’s so miserable,” she added delightedly.”