“As I reach my thirtieth year of service as a butler in a gentleman’s household, I find myself looking back. Between my secret recipe for boot blacking (an indispensable tool for a butler), and a vastly superior method to remove wine stains from velvet (which some will erroneously hold to be an impossibility), I find my memories salted with some faint wisdoms, a few tested experiences, and many, many interesting stories.”

“Who was I, really? I was the sole occupant of my mother's totalitarian state, my own personal history rewritten to fit the story she was telling that day. There were so many missing pieces. I was starting to find some of them, working my way upriver, collecting a secret cache of broken memories in a shoebox.”

“And I began to feel sorry for myself; for so many years, my drawer full of memories had held the same old stories.”

“It's possible that in holding back the full truth of who I was, I was also holding back myself, which shut me off from experiencing the thrill of falling in love. That's just one of the many ways my secret has cost me. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.”

“I am unarmed. But Butler here, my ...ah...butler, has a Sig Saucer in his shoulder holster, two shrike-throwing knives in his boots, aderringer two-shot up his sleeve, garrotte wire in his watch, and three stun greanades concealed in variouse pockets. Anything else, Butler?”

“Frankly my dear i don't give a d*** -Rhett Butler from Gone With The Wind”