“You think I'm with you out of guilt?""No, you ass. Of course not. I just mean—""You're a nut, MacAllister. I'm with you because I love you."There it was, out. Three little words. Three of the most common words in the world, but string them together and they were more powerful than any warrant, any extradition papers, or even treaty. Stronger than any magical spell. Had he really never said them aloud to Taylor?”

“So, tomorrow night. My house or yours?""Mine. I...want to show you something.""Oh yes?” Will said hopefully, suggestively.There was a smile in Taylor's voice, but he sounded absent. “Will?""Right here."There was a pause. “When I was shot—"Will's heart quickened; he wasn't even sure why. “Yeah?""It wasn't because of you...turning me down. It wasn't because my mind wasn't on the job.""No?""No. I know—at least, I think I do—that you thought you were somehow to blame for me getting nailed. It wasn't anything to do with you.” He heard Taylor sigh. “It was when I saw how young they were. Kids. And I hesitated. I hesitated a couple of seconds too long. That's all."Something inside Will relaxed, like the clutch of a child's hand on a balloon. The balloon went sailing free and happy.(...)He couldn't even explain why he felt so happy. “You think I'm with you out of guilt?""No, you ass. Of course not. I just mean—""You're a nut, MacAllister. I'm with you because I love you."There it was, out. Three little words. Three of the most common words in the world, but string them together and they were more powerful than any warrant, any extradition papers, or even treaty. Stronger than any magical spell. Had he really never said them aloud to Taylor? Something in the ringing silence that followed made him think he maybe hadn't.It was a relief when Taylor said, at last, in that irritable voice that always signified nerves or great emotion, “That's fine. I just thought you should know.""I love you,” Will repeated firmly, having got the hang of it. “I'll see you tomorrow night, you lunatic.""Love you,” Taylor said tersely and hung up.Taylor stared at the receiver in its cradle and then got ready for bed.”

“I know you all think I'm a magician, but I'm not. The magic comes out of the booksthemselves, and I have no more idea than you or any of your men how it works.”

“I love you." Why it worked right then, why the webbing of my godmother's spell frayed as though the words had been an open flame, I don't know. I haven't found any explanation for it. There aren't any magical words, really. The words just hold the magic. They give it a shape and a form, they make it useful, describe the images within. I'll say this, though: Some words have a power that has nothing to do with supernatural forces. They resound in the heart and mind, they live long after the sounds of them have died away, they echo in the heart and the soul. They have power, and that power is very real. Those three words are good ones.”

“I did not love you out or boredom or loneliness or caprice. I loved you because the desire for you was stronger than any happiness.”

“When you're having an asthma attack, you don't have any breath. When you don't have any breath, it's hard to speak. You're limited by the amount of air you can spend from your lungs. That's not much, something between three to six words. It gives the word a meaning. You're searching through the piles of words in your head, picking the most important ones. And they have a cost. It's not like the healthy people that take out every word that has accumulated in their head like garbage. When someone, while having an asthma attack, says "I love you" or "I really love you", there's a difference. A word difference. And a word is a lot, because that word could have been "sit", "Ventolin" or even "ambulance".”