“I fought the mighty urge to watch her put it on. My libido had just burst out of the closet and was tripping over furniture yelling, "Who? What? Where?" (Please excuse him. He doesn't get out much)”

“How could I sit here and ask this stranger to help me pick up the facts of my life? The shopping bags had burst and all my things were rolling out over a packed pavement with me scurrying after them, stooping and bumping and tripping: Excuse me, I'm sorry. Could you just...Excuse me.”

“Save Cole,” Beckett told her as he straddled the motorcycle. “I don’t intend to put my life at a premium, so no matter what happens, just get him out.”

“And you know what? If there is a God, and it's that same God who's so eager to have temples built in honor of his greatness, and wars fought over him, and people dropping to their knees telling him what a wonderful, magnificent being he is? If this all-powerful, all-knowing creature for some reason just can't get by without my worship? Then let him give me some proof. Or at least get over himself if I decide to go out and get some.”

“Every moment of every day, she had fought to keep his face out of her mind, and his voice out of her head, had fought not to hear him say, "Just relax, luv. It's all right.”

“And just then Damon stepped out of the coat closet, and at the same time Aunt Maggie tripped him neatly and said, “Bathroom door beside you,” and picked up a vase and hit the rising Damon over the head with it. Hard.”