“Dorothea, he said to himself, was for ever enthroned in his soul: no other woman could sit higher than her footstool...”

“And Casaubon had done a wrong to Dorothea in marrying her. A man was bound to know himself better than that, and if he chose to grow grey crunching bones in a cavern, he had no business to be luring a girl into his companionship. 'It is the most horrible of virgin sacrifices,' said Will; and he painted to himself what were Dorothea's inward sorrows as if he had been writing a choric wail.”

“He wanted to paddle her himself, then shake her, then sit her down in a chair and explain to her why she must never, ever get herself in a situation where she could be shot at again—and then throw himself at her feet.”

“It is better to walk through darkness, the Lord guiding you, than to sit enthroned in light that radiates from yourself.”

“No man ever truly possesses a woman, anyhow," said Gidas moodily. "He has her body for a time if he's lucky, but only the most fleeting glimpse into her soul." Gidas was a poet, or wanted to be.”

“Check out that one at the end. He's taken the form of a footstool. Weird...but somehow I like his style.""That is a footstool.”