“I’m sorry about this,' she said to the dead woman, 'but I’m gonna need your clothes.”

“Hatred could not be the basis of her resolution to fight. It provided no access to her own qi, her vital spirit. That was the deepest truth she knew about fighting. It’s what she learned from her father and Sensei: fight from the peaceful place inside, from her father’s place.”

“She looked into the eyes of many of them as they passed away, like some sort of angel of death. Some were frightened, some relieved, most just confused. She served as the arbiter of their passage, an earthly Charon. Or perhaps a Valkyrie, carrying fallen heroes to Valhalla. But she’d seen no heroes, no one worthy of Valhalla.”

“The angel of death can hardly have friends. And the prom, what about Danny? He can hardly have a Valkyrie for his date.”

“It’s who I am. I can’t just pretend to be some normal kid. That won’t work either. They’ll never leave me alone. But here’s what I know: a block is a strike, and the more an adversary thinks he has succeeded, the more devastating the strike will be.”

“The traditional statement about language is that it is in itself living, and that writing is the dead part of language.”

“I say, sah! Sorry to trouble you to get off your big fat bottom and help a poor gel out!" "I would not have helped if you hadn't have needed it. You were doing well on your own until the vermin started trying to use trickery." Dottie bounced on her footpaws, her large ears stand up straight. "I know, sah! The bally old blighters didn't know wot hit 'em!" Lord Brocktree hid a smile.”