“[...] Y'know, the Duchess Regan is living here at the tower now? I took your advice about not talking about her boffnacity [footnote], even with the duke dead and all, can't be too careful. Although, I caught sight of her in a dressing gown one day she was up on the parapet outside her solar. Fine flanks on that princess, despite the danger of death and all for sayin' so, sir." -YeomenAye, the lady is fair, and her gadonk as fine as frog fur [...]" -Pocketfootnote: Boffnacity: an expression of shagnatiousness, fit. from the Latin boffusnatious”

“Advice, then, young yeoman: When referring to the king's middle daughter, state that she is fair, speculate that she is pious, but unless you'd like to spend your watch looking for the box where your head is kept, resist the urge to wax ignorant on her naughty bits." -PocketI don't know what that means, sir." -YeomanSpeak not of Regan's shaggacity, son" [...] -Pocket”

“Ten salespeople, all young, all dressed in generic cotton casual, looked up from their conversations, spotted the money in her hand, and simultaneously stopped breathing-their brains shutting down bodily functions and rerouting the needed energy to calculate the projected commissions contained in Jody's cash. One by one they resumed breathing and marched toward her, a look of dazed hunger in their eyes: a pack of zombies from the perky, youthful version of The Night of the Living Dead. "I wear a size four and I've got a date in fifteen minutes," Jody said. "Dress me." They descended on her like an evil khaki wave.”

“Careful crossing the street," Tommy called back to her as he crossed. [Jody is drunk]"Ha!" Jody said. "I am a finely tuned predator. I am a superbeing. I --" And at that point she bounced her forehead off a light pole with a dull twang and was suddenly lying on her back, looking at the streetlights above her, which kept going out of focus, the bastards.”

“They were both lean and blond and weather-beaten, and one evening, as they were portaging gear from their respective Zodiacs, Libby unzipped her survival suit and tied the sleeves around her waist so she could move more freely. Nate said, "You look good in that."No one, absolutely no one, looks good in a survival suit (unless a Day-Glo orange marshmallow man is your idea of a hot date), but Libby didn't even make the effort to roll her eyes. "I have vodka and a shower in my cabin," she said."I have a shower in my cabin, too," Nate said.Libby just shook her head and trudged up the path to the lodge. Over her shoulder she called, "In five minutes, there's going to be a naked woman in my shower. You got one of those?""Oh," said Nate.”

“What are you working on?" Elizabeth asked. Nate could hear her tapping a pencil on her desk. She took notes during their conversations. He didn't know what she did with the notes, but it bothered him."I have a lecture at the sanctuary in four days." Why, why had he told her? Why? Now she'd rattle down the mountain in her ancient Mercedes that looked like a Nazi staff car, sit in the audience, and ask all the questions that she knew in advance he couldn't answer.”

“The Holy Mother has many faces, but you know it's her from her blue cloak. She is said to be the spirit in all women." "Look, here she is naked and the baby Jesus has wings, " said Lucien."That is not the Holy Mother, that's Venus and that's not Jesus, that is Cupid, the Roman god of love.""Wouldn't she have the spirit of the Holy Mother as well?""No, she is a pagan myth.""What about Maman? Is the spirit of the Holy Mother in her?""No, Lucien, your mother is also a pagan myth. Come, look at these paintings of wrestlers.”