“(Will unsheathed his sword.)What is it you do? (Stryder)Remember when you told us you’d rather be dead than married? (Val)”

“Not I, but rather the king you love so well. It appears he would see us marry. (Rowena)My hairy arse. (Stryder)That is much more information about your person, Lord Stryder, than I care to know. (Rowena)”

“Unsheathe your swords!' He considered that. 'Or cheaper weapons! Let us ... do some good!”

“I could no more love a man of the sword than either of our mothers. So, tell me, Stryder. How do we get out of this? (Rowena)I don’t know. Murder? (Stryder)”

“Val: Why do you go out there?Sandra: Because dead people give such good advice.Val: What advice do they give?Sandra: Just one word- live!”

“It was a blessing and also a curse of handwritten letters that unlike email you couldn’t obsessively reread what you’d written after you’d sent it. You couldn’t attempt to un-send it. Once you’d sent it it was gone. It was an object that no longer belonged to you but belonged to your recipient to do with what he would. You tended to remember the feeling of what you’d said more than the words. You gave to object away and left yourself with the memory. That was what it was to give.”