“Pop quizzes were killers. Like ambushing assassins they elicited fear and loathing in the prey, and a certain heady power in the hunter.”

“In their eyes, Eve saw the wolf gleam. The story was the prey, ratings the trophy.”

“Her killer wrote a note on that stationary.""A note." Now Renquist's eyebrows lifted. "Well. That was rather arrogant of him, wasn't it?”

“In my hands is power. The power to hear or to destroy. To grant life or to cause death. I revere this gift, have honed it over time an art as magnificent and awesome as any painting in the Louvre. I an art, I am science. In all ways that matter, I am God.God must be ruthless and far-sighted. God studies his creations and selects. The best of these creations must be cherished, protected, sustained. Greatness rewards perfection.Yet even the flawed have purpose. A wise God experiment, considers, uses what comes into his hands and forges wonders. Yes, often without mercy, often with a violence the ordinary condemn. We who hold power cannot be detracted by the condemnations of the ordinary, by the petty and pitiful laws of simple man. They are blind, their minds are closed with fear-fear of pain, fear of death. They are too limited to comprehend that death can be conquered. I have nearly done so. If my work was discovered, they, with their foolish laws and attitudes, would damn me.When my work is complete, they will worship me.”

“Eve: "Was that like a cookie?"Roarke: "Hmmm?"Eve: "You know, have a cookie. You'll feel better. Were you making me feel better?"Roarke: "I certainly hope so, it worked for me. I wanted you. I always do."Eve: "It's funny how men can wake up with their brains in their cocks."Roarke: "It makes us what we are. Let's take a shower. I'll give you another cookie.”

“Roarke: “Our engines don't run at the same speed.”Eve: “What the hell does that mean?”Roarke: “Just that.”Eve: “It sounds like something that ought to piss me off. But I can't figure out exactly why. When I do, I might have to pop you one.”Roarke: “I'll look forward to it. If you don't sleep, eat. You need something in your stomach. And what are you grinning at?”Eve: “You. You're such a wife.”Roarke: “Now, I'm pissed off.”

“You were forthcoming, articulate, and gave the details. You're alibied up to your gonads--Oh, sorry.""Not a problem, I like knowing that part of my anatomy is protected.”