“Like me!" I said. "I have to work hard, too. Why, I haven't thrown manure in over two months!”

“Tell me why you're so hard to forget. Don't remind me, I'm not over it. Tell me why, I can't seem to face the truth, I'm just a little too not over you.”

“He snarled at me. "This isn't over yet, Betsy.""Excellent," I said. "I would also have accepted 'You haven't seen the last of me' and 'You'll regret this'.”

“I didn't like having reasonable arguments thrown at me.”

“Finally, she'd found a group on Corellia that had helped her deal with her addiction, helped her realize why she felt so empty, so driven. "It took me months of hard digging into myself," she said. "Months to figure out why I wanted to hurt myself. I finally got it through my head that just because my mother hated and despised me for not being what she wanted me to be, I didn't have to hate myself. I didn't have to destroy myself in some twisted attempt to please her.”

“It always does seem to me that I am doing more work than I should do. It is not that I object to the work, mind you; I like work: it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours. I love to keep it by me: the idea of getting rid of it nearly breaks my heart.You cannot give me too much work; to accumulate work has almost become a passion with me: my study is so full of it now, that there is hardly an inch of room for any more. I shall have to throw out a wing soon.And I am careful of my work, too. Why, some of the work that I have by me now has been in my possession for years and years, and there isn’t a finger-mark on it. I take a great pride in my work; I take it down now and then and dust it. No man keeps his work in a better state of preservation than I do.But, though I crave for work, I still like to be fair. I do not ask for more than my proper share.”