“Michael stands at the dresser, putting his comb into his back right pocket, his wallet into his back left pocket, his keys into his front right pocket. A place for everything , and everything in its proper place. Except, perhaps, his wife.”

“Clearly I have a talent now: I can trace every single thing back to a certain, scared place in the map of my heart.”

“How'd you get in here?"She raised her eyebrows. “You pick pockets.” Kat watched his hand fly to his back pocket. “I can pick locks. Looking for this?” she asked, holding up his wallet. “Oops. Maybe I can pick pockets too.”

“[Mulder] slowed as he approached the front walk, slipping his left hand into his pocket to wrap around his gun. Front or back? Wait for Scully, or do the stupid thing and go in on his own?He had no realistic alternative.”

“I slide down between the sheets beside him, like a secret letter slipped into the safety of an envelope. And dream of ancient places, where everyone is young.”

“Oh baby," he whispers. Steps back. Out of the doorway. His face ashen. He walks slowly back to the kitchen. Leans over the counter. Puts his head in his hands. His hair falls over his fingers.The bathroom door clicks shut.She stays there for a long time.He's pulling his hair out.”

“His smile was the nightmare in my back pocket.(Speaking about Ronald Reagan)”