“No, she wasn't losing language. She was choking on it.”

“She wasn't afraid of doing good or of resisting evil. She was merely afraid she might not be able to tell the difference.”

“I'm just doing your tea, Mum," he said. "Are you all imbecilic? Is that a requirement of enlisted men? It's Lady GLINDA!" She was losing it, big time. "Get me Murth!”

“Are you the dart?" he said. "Are you the knife? The fuse?" She said (though he wasn't convinced): "My deane, my poppet, I am too green to walk into a public place and do something bad...”

“She is no longer I, she is too long ago, she is only she...”

“Galinda didn't see the verdant world through the glass of the carriage; she saw her own reflection instead. She had the nearsightedness of youth. She reasoned that because she was beautiful she was significant, though what she signified, and to whom, was not clear yet...She was, after all, on her way to Shiz because she was smart. But there was more than one way to be smart.”

“But this was fancy; she was succumbing to fancy in a way she hadn't done before.”