“Smalls, my parents' house is pretty big. The odds are more in favor of a burglar sneaking around than your boy-boy. I can't let you take that risk alone. If you're gonna get murdered, then I'm gonna get murdered with you." She shrugged. "It's what any good friend would do.”

“Yeah, fucknuts, its you. You're me. To get into this place, You're gonna have to kill me. Which is not gonna happen 'cause I'm not so cool with dying. What is gonna happen is that i'm gonna kick your ass and kill you dead.”

“I'm gonna fuck it up, Pigeon. You're gonna get sick of my shit."I laughed. "I'm sick of your shit now. I still married you.”

“Get this into your head Ava, I'm not gonna do anything to fuck it up between us but I'm also not gonna let you do anything to fuck it up either.”

“Parents always forgive you. Like sometimes, you see parents on the news, and their kid just got busted for murdering a 7-11 clerk, and they're like, 'But my Bubba's a good boy. He'd never hurt a fly.' So I'm sure your parents would forgive you for whatever you did.”

“Now, as I understand it, the bards were feared. They were respected, but more than that they were feared. If you were just some magician, if you'd pissed off some witch, then what's she gonna do, she's gonna put a curse on you, and what's gonna happen? Your hens are gonna lay funny, your milk's gonna go sour, maybe one of your kids is gonna get a hare-lip or something like that — no big deal. You piss off a bard, and forget about putting a curse on you, he might put a satire on you. And if he was a skilful bard, he puts a satire on you, it destroys you in the eyes of your community, it shows you up as ridiculous, lame, pathetic, worthless, in the eyes of your community, in the eyes of your family, in the eyes of your children, in the eyes of yourself, and if it's a particularly good bard, and he's written a particularly good satire, then three hundred years after you're dead, people are still gonna be laughing, at what a twat you were.”