“They’re talking about Marthe, Maître Gaultier’s assistant. What’s she like? Pretty?’ ‘She’s pretty,’ said the man. Philippa studied the taciturn face. ‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘Mr Blyth wants her all to himself?’ For a moment, she thought it hadn’t worked. Then the man gave a snort. ‘Mr Blyth want her? He held us up at Avignon for two days refusing to go on until she was sent back home, but Gaultier wouldn’t do it, and he had to give in. Mr Blyth and Gaultier haven’t spoken since. Aye,’ said Jerott’s man morosely. ‘It’s going to be a grand, sociable trip.”

“I remember the woman who marched up to the front of a church where I was doing a meeting, put her hands on her hips, and she said, "I want my money back." I said, "What are you talking about?" She said, “I’ve been doing this two weeks, and it doesn’t work. I want my money back!” It was actually all that I could keep from doing to keep from laughing in her face, but she was serious. She actually was, like, giving almost to buy some kind of a new lifestyle that she wanted. Didn’t understand a thing about commitment and dedication and discipline. Two weeks! How many of you know you’re not going to throw a little money in the bucket and get your life that’s been a mess for 50 years turned around in two weeks!?!?”

“He’d heard of this woman. The Dame de Doubtance, they called her: a madwoman and a caster of horoscopes. Gaultier gave her house-room and men and women came to her from all the known world and had their futures foretold—if she felt like it. She had given some help once to Lymond, on her own severe terms, because of a distant link, it was said, with his family. Plainly, a crazy old harridan. But if she was going to tell Lymond he ought to find a nice girl and marry her, Jerott wanted very much to be there.”

“I asked her if she’d give me all her love, and she flatly said no. I got excited because while she said she wouldn’t give me all her love, she said nothing about not wanting to give me some of her love.”

“No, she wasn't going to go to Martin's, curse him, but she wasn't going to run back to her room either, if just to spite Mr. Nobley. The man deserved to be spited. Or spitted. Or both.”

“Jenna walked in between desks and plonked herself down behind hers, noticing AGAIN that the teacher hadn’t graced the class with his zitty presence. She thought Mr. Kennan needed to get fired, which said a lot, because she rarely paid attention to ugly teachers. She’d discussed this with the principal two weeks back when she’d been sent to his office after getting caught sleeping. She’d told him that if he employed more hot teachers like Mr. Daniels then maybe she wouldn’t pass out from boredom. The principal gave her a week’s detention because of that comment, saying that she needed to take things more seriously. But she WAS being serious.Jenna Hamilton from Graffiti Heaven (Chapter 28).”