“They've got these things called lockers," I raved on. "The Halls are lined with them. And you won't believe what they're for! They're for locking stuff away-so other people won't steal it! Why can't everyone share?" ~ Cap”

“The au pair was bug-eyed. "What happened back there?""It's not our fault!" Dan babbled. "Those guys are crazy! They're like mini-Darth Vaders without the mask!""They're Benedictine monks!" Nellie exclaimed. "They're men of peace! Most of them are under vows of silence!""Yeah, well, not anymore," Dan told her. "They cursed us out pretty good. I don't know the language, but some things you don't have to translate.”

“The key to the city of Florence was about two feet long, and painted a garish gold.Hamilton was fascinated by it. "Wow! How big is the lock?"Jonah laughed. "There is no lock, cuz. It's an honorary gig. Back in my crib in LA, I've got a whole shed full of keys from different cities. Want to know the kicker? I can't get at them. The gardener lost the key to the shed.”

“When we lock things away," he said with conviction, "we're really imprisoning ourselves.”

“Nobody got me out," Nellie replied. "They just let me go. They think I'm a deranged Jonah Wizard fan. Apparently, the hotel's full of them. A couple of idiots actually jumped off the front balcony. Can you picture that?""In Technicolor," Amy said bitterly."That low-down KGB reject!" Dan fumed. "I can't believe she cheated me–right when I was in the middle of cheating her!”

“Ow!""Hold still," Sinead ordered. "And don't be such a baby." She dabbed at the angry red mark behind Ian's ear. "Cat scratches are prone to infection, you know.""And that's my fault?" Ian raged. "Why don't you lock that animal in the cellar? Or, better still, send him to a violen string factory! Ow! What is this stuff–acid?""My own concoction," she replied cheerfully. "Amy and I use it on our blisters when we do marathon training. Soothing, right?""They practice this kind of soothing in the Lucian stronghold–during interrogations.”

“You know what punk is? a bunch of no-talent guys who really, really want to be in a band. Nobody reads music, nobody plays the mandolin, and you're too dumb to write songs about mythology or Middle-earth. So what's your style? Three chords, cranked out fast and loud and distorted because your instruments are crap and you can't play them worth a damn. And you scream your lungs out to cover up the fact that you can't sing. It should suck, but here's the thing - it doesn't. Rock and roll can be so full of itself, but not this. It's simple and angry and raw.”