“I would like to bear thy son and hy daughter," she told hime. "And how can the world be made better if there are no children of us who fight against the fascists?”

“She remembered a tale she had heard from Old Nan, about how sometimes during a long winter men who'd lived beyond their years would announce that they were going hunting. And their daughters would weep and their sons would turn their faces to the fire, she could hear Old Nan saying, but no one would stop them, or ask what game they meant to hunt, with the snows so deep and the cold wind howling. She wondered what the old Braavosi told their sons and daughters, before they set off.”

“I know now that a friend isn’t someone who lets us be ourselves. No! A friend is someone who will die to keep us from becoming anyone else, someone who fights for us against a world that is constantly trying to shrink us into shelved canisters labeled “how you’re supposed to be.” A friend does everything possible to make sure we become who we are made to be—nothing less, nothing more.”

“Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself”

“Can't you just see it? Can't you see us with gray hair, sitting at those late night football games. I'll be the dad with one eye on my football playing sons, and the other on our daughter, who if she looks anything like you, I will need to carry a gun to fight off all of those horny teenage boys.”

“I made my bed and I sleep like a baby with no regrets and I don't mind saying it's a sad, sad story when a mother will teach her daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger. And how in the world can the words that I said send somebody so over the edge that they'd write me a letter saying that I better shut up and sing or my life will be over?”