“The ones that rip my heart from my chest are the little ones. The children, with tangled hair and dirty clothes, covering their own ugly secrets. And all they ask of me is shelter, food to warm their hollowness, a bed free of nightmares.They look at me, and through me. And it's hard to tell who's more haunted-- them or me.”

“Children get food shelter pocket money longholidays and love, all of it apparently free gratis, and most of the little fools think it's a sort of compensation for having been born. 'There are no strings on me!' They sang; but I, pinnoccio, saw the strings. Parents are impelled by the profit motive - nothing more, nothing less. For their attentions, they expected, from me, the immense dividend of greatness.”

“Our children weigh hard on my heart, and thinking about them growing up honest and healthy, or just living to grow up at all, makes a load in my chest that is bigger than the safe at the bank, and more valuable to me than all the gold inside it.”

“I pulled him in and kissed back, and he threw his hands through my hair, his tongue licking hard over mine, picked me up by my thighs and wrapped them around him, he had a leather couch in his office and he threw me onto it, he quickly yanked his tie off and ripped his shirt off. I lay on the sofa looking over his sculpted chest, his deep pecks his hard abs, he came at me and grabbed my hair, he pulled it back exposing my throat, he kissed from my jaw down to my collarbone.”

“Mo Nighean donn," he whispered," mo chridhe. My brown lass, my heart."Come to me. Cover me. Shelter me. a bhean, heal me. Burn with me, as I burn for you.”

“Oh, you're one of those,' the princess said.'One of what?''One of those who needs to be told their worth over and over by others. Do you know who tells me my worth, Phaedra of Alonso?'The princess pointed a hard finger at her own chest. 'Me. I determine my own worth. If I had to rely on others I'd have lain down and died waiting.”