“The world corrupts me, I think. Or perhaps it's just the weather. It pulls me down and makes me think like you, that one should shrink inside, down and down to a little point of light, preserving one's solitary soul like a flame under glass”

“You like doing that, don't you?''Yes, I like kissing you.''No,' she said, 'lifting me off my feet. Carrying me around. Pulling me down to kiss you whenever you get the urge.' She turned to him with a mock glare. 'I think it goes hand in hand with the telling me what to do stuff.'He didn't let go of her hand as he lifted his to run the back of one knuckle down her cheek. 'You like it, too.”

“I think we're just different sorts of people, me and you. You're a planner. Everything has to be perfectly aligned before you make a move, or you're afraid the whole damn world will come crashing down. For me, it's more like, "We're having a baby. Now what?”

“Women," Mat declared as he rode Pips down the dusty, little-used road, "are like mules." He frowned. "Wait. No. Goats. Women are like goats. Except every flaming one thinks she's a horse instead, and a prize racing mare to boot. Do you understand me, Talmanes?""Pure poetry, Mat," Talmanes said, tamping the tabac down into his pipe.”

“You know what it's like," said Storm, "when you want to--just--pour a woman into a glass and--just-drink her--just drink her down, one gulp, body and soul?”

“If you had a table spread for a feast, and was making merry with your friends, you would think it was kind to let me come and sit down and rejoice with you, because you’d think I should like to share those good things; but I should like better to share in your trouble and your labour.”