“Oh what was the racket that backeted and smashed in raging might, to make this oil-puddle world?--”

“Please," he whispered. His voice was low but clear. "Don't hurt me anymore."Attolia recoiled. Once, as a child, she'd thrown her slipper in a rage and had knocked an amphora of oil from its pedestal. The amphora had been a favorite of hers. It had smashed, and the scent of the hair oil inside had lingered for days. She remembered the scent still, though she didn't know what in the stinking cell had brought it to mind.”

“They'd smash up the world if they thought it would make a pretty noise.”

“Tell him what? Kat’s a raging nymphomaniac. (Kytara)Tara! (Kat)Oh, all right. She’s so bland she makes plain toast look spicy. (Kytara)”

“A brick could be used to smash my bottled up rage, and a blanket could be laid down beforehand to catch the shards. 
”

“The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.”