“she was disquietingly fluid—fluid without, however, being able to flow. I felt a hardness and a constriction in her, a grave mistrust, created already by too many men like me ever to be conquered now.”
“I watch her as she leaves. Everything about her is fluid as a river. Her messy hair, her xylophone voice, the strokes of her paintbrush. Even her camouflage army jacket hangs loose, flowing like ribbons.”
“God, now she knew what decent men felt like, the disquiet before taking someone for their first time.”
“His eyes felt like bathwater; fluid, therapeutic almost.”
“I understand her immediately. She is an instigator, a fire starter, an accelerant of a human being, throwing herself into the middle of a crowd and lighting it up. She is fucking lighter fluid.”
“Why did you let her take the head off London Bridge?"Cromwell:"You know me, Stephen. The fluid of benevolence flows through my veins and sometimes overspills.”