“Why, Sicarius, is it possible you have a playful side beneath your razor-edged knives, severe black clothing and humourless glares?”

“At mealtime a very broad cloth is laid on the trestle table in the solar. to facilitate service, places are set along one side only. On that side the cloth falls to the floor, doubling as a communal napkin...there are several kinds of knives...but no forks.”

“Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge. That's what it is: an edge; a razor. It draws up through the center of your life, cutting everything in two. Before and after. The rest of the world falls away on either side.”

“Wake up, Astrid. Your psychotic criminal is playing with knives. (Sasha)”

“Incredible brilliance often dwells on the razor's edge of madness...”

“I'll tell you, my friends: it's all in the nerves. The nerves that tense and relax as you approach the edges of companionship and love. The razor-sharp edges of companionship and love.”