“Every day, I live a lieBut not the crocodile kind.”

“Crocodile LiesI confess, yes, our Fall was all my faultIf you kissed my eyes, your lips would taste saltBut you think my regret is a lie, and the tears I cryAre the crocodile kind.The sweat on your upper lip starts to boilWhite hot with anger, still convinced I'm your foilYou keep fighting me, though my eyes are freeFrom crocodile lies.You, yes, you, linger inside my heartThe same you who stopped us before we could startI didn't want to leave, but you began to believeYour own crocodile lies.The only person stopping you is yourself,You won't accept that I want no one else,So until you do, I'll let someone else have youEvery day I live the lie,But not the crocodile kind--Marcus Flutie”

“Crocodiles, you will say, are stationary. Mr. Waterton tells me that the crocodile does not change,—that a cayman, in fact, or an alligator, is just as good for riding upon as he was in the time of the Pharaohs. That may be; but the reason is that the crocodile does not live fast—he is a slow coach. I believe it is generally understood among naturalists that the crocodile is a blockhead. It is my own impression that the Pharaohs were also blockheads.”

“He lives for you, Laurel, and that's not some kind of figure of speech.He lives every day for you.Even after you moved to Crescent City,all he did every day was talk about you,worry about you, wonder what was happening, if he would ever see you again. And even what I told him I was sick of hearing about you, I could tell he was still thinking about you.Every moment of every day.”

“That's the day i decided to live every minute of every day like it might be my last.”

“You also killed Despatov," he countered. "You and your damned seamen."It was the crocodile killed Despatov," I pointed out as reasonably as I could, still hoping to find a compromise. "We can hardly be held responsible for the actions of every crocodile on the River Beet-"SILENCE!" Bormann screamed.”