“A grave and dark-clad company," quoth Goodman Brown.”

“Up close, I see that his eyes are brown. Dark, dark brown. Nearly black.Sinful.”

“O but," quoth she, "great griefe will not be tould, And can more easily be thought, then said." "Right so"; quoth he, "but he, that never would, Could never: will to might gives greatest aid." "But grief," quoth she, "does great grow displaid, If then it find not helpe, and breedes despaire." "Despaire breedes not," quoth he, "where faith is staid." "No faith so fast," quoth she, "but flesh does paire.""Flesh may empaire," quoth he, "but reason can repaire.”

“Where have you been, Theodora?," Mrs Goodman asked."Walking, Mother.""And whom did you see?"Mrs Goodman flung her grammar like a stone."I did not see a cat," said Theodora.Mrs Goodman looked at her daughter, who giggled before she left the room.”

“Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.”

“The proper word for me," Robin Goodman says, "is me.”