“I hope you drop dead!” She screamed as Basta hauled her out of the room. “I hope you burn to death! I hope you suffocate in your own smoke!” Basta laughed as he closed the door. “Just listen to this little wildcat!” He said. “I think I’ll have to watch my step with you around!”

“You didn't think I really liked you? Do you think I really like you now?"He turned toward her, uncertainty in his face."You did go quite a lot of effort to be having this conversation, but... I don't want to read too much of what I hope into that."Val stretched out beside him, resting her head in the crook of his arm. "What do you hope?"He pulled her close, hands careful not to touch her wounds as they wrapped around her. "I hope that you feel for me as I do for you," he said, his voice like a sigh against her throat.And how is that?" she asked, her lips so close to his jaw that she could taste the salt of his skin when she moved them.You carried my heart in your hands tonight," he said. "But I have felt as if you carried it long before that."She smiled and let her eyes drift closed. They lay there together, under the bridge, city lights burning outside the windows like a sky full of falling stars, as they slid off into sleep”

“Well,I hope you like the ring." He held it out to me, he velvet lid still closed. "My mom hates it.""I'm sure I'll love it,then," I said, and he laughed.”

“You are overstepping your bounds, Chitah. This is my home,” Justus warned.“Ghuardian, you make the rules in the house, but I make the rules in my bedroom,” I said, hoping to avoid a fight. “I’ll keep the door open, and if he so much as looks at me funny, I’ll nuke him.”

“Good Evening , Sir John. I hope that you will accept a little gift from me.'I should be honored, Your Majesty.'I want to give you a little carved stool from my privy chambers. A pretty little piece from France. I hope you will like it.'I should be grateful.'It is for your daughter. For Jane. To sit on. She seems not to have a seat of her own but she must borrow mine.”

“My dear Mrs. Ali, I would hardly refer to you as old," he said. "You are in what I would call the very prime flowering of mature womanhood." It was a little grandiose but he hoped to surprise a blush. Instead she laughed out loud at him. "I have never heard anyone try to trowel such a thick layer of flattery on the wrinkles and fat deposits of advanced middle age, Major," she said. "I am fifty-eight years old and I think I have slipped beyond flowering. I can only hope now to dry out into one of those everlasting bouquets.”