“I tell you this, and I tell you plainWhat you have done, you will do againYou will bite your tongue, careful or notUpon the already-bitten spot”

“I don’t have to tell you, “I don’t have to tell you” before telling you something I don’t have to tell you. I also don't have to tell you I love you, but I do.”

“I don’t care what you’ve done. Just tell me how you feel.”

“Don’t you two dare say a thing,” she pointed a finger at us, straightening her skirt with the other hand. “Just bite your tongues.”“You look great, Lucinda.”“And you’re a liar and should have your mouth washed out with soap,” she tugged on the sleeves of her cardigan. “Nice pearls,” I pointed to her neck.“Didn’t I tell ya’ll to bite yer tongues,” Gram’s southern drawl became more pronounced when she was irritated.”

“Your critics are the ones telling you they still love you and care. Worry when you do something badly and nobody bothers to tell you.”

“I want someone who can sit me down, shut me up, tell me ten things I don't already know and make me laugh. I don't care what you look like, just turn me on. And if you can do that, I will follow you on bloody stumps through the snow. I will nibble your mukluks with my own teeth. I will do your windows. I will care about your feelings. Just have something in there.”