“What do you know that you’re not telling me?""I don’t know what you know, so I don’t know what you don’t know.”

“Only the passionate were immortal, it seemed. If you fought, screwed, screamed, laughed, or otherwise experienced life intensely, for better or worse, you left a record. Those who lived a quiet, well-behaved, well-tempered life? Gone without a trace.”

“They just didn't make them like that anymore. Nowadays she was lucky to get some mild flirtation from some leather-faced NRA lobbyist. Forget about doggy-style on an eighteenth-century canopied bed by a certified KGB agent who said things like “beg for it my little Yankee poodle.”

“I don’t know why you put up with me, and I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”

“Listen to me. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what any of this means. But I know this much. It doesn’t matter. You’re not one of them. You never were. You’re not theirs. You’re mine.”

“Do not tell me you don’t know you’re pretty. If so, I’mabout to lose all faith in mankind. You don’t want to be responsible for that.”

“That’s what scares me, Gideon. You don’t know what you’re worth.” “Actually, I do. Twelve bill—” “Shut up.”