“As if on cue, Fiona appeared in another of the ballroom's multiple doorways. 'Beatrice! Oliver! How many times have I told you no skating in the house? I just had these floors refinished.''So that's why it's extra slippery today,' mused Oliver. 'Cool.”

“Oh that's lovely," said Bunny. "Olive, you've got a date.""Why would you say something so foolish?" Olive asked, really annoyed. "We're two lonely people having supper.""Exactly," said Bunny. "That's a date.”

“There are a good many books, are there not, my boy?” said Mr. Brownlow, observing the curiosity with which Oliver surveyed the shelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling.“A great number, sir,” replied Oliver; “I never saw so many.”“You shall read them if you behave well,” said the old gentleman kindly; “and you will like that, better than looking at the outsides, - that is, in some cases, because there are books of which the backs and covers are by far the best parts.”

“Olive Wellwood had the feeling writers often have when told perfect tales for fictions, that there was too much fact, too little space for the necessary insertion of inventions, which would here appear to be lies.”

“Well, why not just snap my damn olive branch and beat me with it? I was only trying to help.”

“Remind me again-why do you hate me so much?"I don't hate you."Could've fooled me."She folded her cap of invisibility. "Look...we're just not supposed to get along, okay? Our parents are rivals."Why?"She sighed. "How many reasons do you want? One time my mom caught Poseidon with his girlfriend in Athena's temple, which is hugely disrespectful. Another time, Athena and Poseidon competed to be the patron god for the city of Athens. Your dad created some stupid saltwater spring for his gift. My mom created the olive tree. The people saw that her gift was better, so they named the city after her."They must really like olives."Oh, forget it."Now, if she'd invented pizza-that I could understand.”