“God damn it," Thomas said as he sat down at the table, carrying a tray so piled with food that it was a miracle he could even lift it. "Aren't we all just too good-looking for words.”

“Don’t discount that part of who he was just because you didn’t know it. None of us are all of who we are to any one person.”

“I'll say it: I want to see an ugly woman as a spokeswoman for a women's network. Ugly men are out there all the time – look at Larry King, for God's sake. He looks like someone's talking underwear. Why not give America a spokeswoman who ain't much to look at but is competent as Hell? If accomplishments actually count for women, this ought to be a no-brainer.”

“The problem with aging is not that it's one damn thing after another—it's every damn thing, all at once, all the time.”

“The man reached into his coat and pulled out a wallet containing an ID card. "Agent Dwight, FBI. Miss Baker, I need you to come with me. You're in danger here.""In danger?" Robin said. "In danger from what?""Not from what. From who," Agent Dwight said, and glanced over at Creek. "You're in danger from him. He's going to kill you, Miss Baker. At least he is going to try."Robin turned to Creek. "You bastard," she said. "You never said anything about killing me when we made the date."”

“In other words, crew deaths are a feature, not a bug," Cassaway said, dryly.”

“Yes, Hart, I went commando to a diplomatic function,” Harry said, and then motioned to his body. “And now, as you can see, I’m going Spartan so a midget can whack me with a stick.” He bent and picked up his Bongka. “Honestly, Hart. Help me out here. Focus a little.”