“Chase is playing escort this morning. He gets cranky if we keep him waiting too long.""We wouldn't want the man with the Taser to get cranky.”

“Suenos. Dulces Suenos.He must be painting upstairs.I can feel it.I remember when his father was just a baby and I called her Mama for the first time and she became Mama for all of us; Mama de la casa and his father would wake up in the middle of the night and scream in his crib and nothing would make him stop, nada, and Mama would get so exhausted she would turn her back to me and cry in her pillow.I would smooth her hair-it was black, Basilio, as black as an olive-and I would turn on the radio (electricity, Basilio, in the middle of the night), to maybe calm the baby and listen to something besides the screaming.Mama liked the radio, Basilio, and we listened while your father cried-cantante negra, cantante de almas azules-and it made us feel a little better, helped us make it through.I had to get up early to catch the streetcar to the shipyard, but when the crying finally stopped sometimes the sun would be ready to pop and Mama's breathing would slow down and her shoulders would move like gentle waves, sleeping but still listening, like I can hear her now on this good bed, and Basilio-Mira, hombre, I will not tell you this again-if I moved very close and kissed her shoulders, she would turn to face me and we would have to be quiet Basilio, under the music, very, very quiet....So this I want to know, Basilio.This, if you want to live on Macon Street for another minute.Can you paint an apple baked soft in the oven, an apple filled with cinnamon and raisins?Can you paint such a woman?Are you good enough yet with those brushes so that she will step out of your pictures to turn on the radio in the middle of the night?Will she visit an old man on his death bed?If you cannot do that, Basilio, there is no need for you to live here anymore.”

“friendship is like a glass. when it breaks it gets together but there are still cracks..everywhere..even if we want to buy a new one we can't.....”

“If I'd known you'd look so beautiful, I would've gotten dressed up," Loki teased when Finn and Thomas brought him into the War Room. Finn shoved him into a seat unnecessarily hard,but Loki didn't protest."Don't get familiar with the Princess, Duncant told him,giving him a stony look."My apologies," Loki said. "I wouldn't want to get familiar with anyone."Loki looked about the room. Duncan, Finn, Thomas, Tove,the Chancellor, and I were the ones set to meet Sara. The rest of the house was on standby, should we need them,but we didn't want to look like we were ambushing Sara when she arrived."Did you change your mind and decide to execute me?" Loki asked,looking us over. "Because you all look like you're going to a funeral.""Not now," I said, fidgeting with my bracelet and watching the clock."Then when,Princess?" Loki asked. "Because we only have about fifteen minutes until I leave."I rolled my eyes and ignored him.”

“The movies make the brooding guy the hero – the guy with problems the guy who carries a gun, the gun with unresolved anger, the guy with a chip on his shoulder, the guy who’s a vampire – and they tell you that you can have the mythical happy ending with that same brooding guy. But in reality, the brooding guy is cranky. He doesn’t reply to emails. He doesn’t call. He’s only half there when you’re talking to him, and he doesn’t chase you when you run. You feel insecure all the time. You get needy and sad and you hate yourself got being needy. If you don’t know why he’s brooding, you’re shut out. And if you do know why he’s brooding, you’re still shut out. (Because he’s busy brooding.)”

“Someone who believes everything he is told simply can't be a scientist, but someone who believes nothing will wind up in jail or prematurely buried.”

“You just couldn’t wait to get me naked, could you, Princess?” Loki asked tiredly. I started to pull my hand back, but he put his own hand over it, keeping it in place.“No, I—I was checking for wounds,” I stumbled. I wouldn’t meet his gaze.“I’m sure.” He moved his thumb, almost caressing my hand, until it hit my ring. “What’s that?” He tried to sit up to see it, so I lifted my hand, showing him the emerald-encrusted oval on my finger. “Is that a wedding ring?”“No, engagement.” I lowered my hand, resting it on the bed next to him. “I’m not married yet.”“I’m not too late, then.” He smiled and settled back in the bed.“Too late for what?” I asked.“To stop you, of course.” Still smiling, he closed his eyes.”