“However you must have sensed a lurking 'but' skulking beneath my happy, blithe, and chipper exterior. A minuscule vexation, like the teeniest lump of raw liver sticking to the inside of my boot.”

“You never know what’s lurking in the bloodstream, or skulking under the foreskin, or squatting in the liver, or flitting hither and thither from branch to branch in the bronchial forest.”

“It smells like... I think it's bile. Tooms must have taken it from his victims' livers.''Oh,' Mulder said. He sounded a little sick. 'Do you think there's any way I can quickly get it off my finger without betraying my cool exterior?'... Mulder hastily wiped his hand on the floor.”

“You never know what lurks just beneath the surface of my fragile sanity.”

“There is a lump of desolation beneath the bony dip at my throat. It is no bigger than a coin, this spot, a peculiarly small place to hold such a feeling. I try to shove it to some deeper region, but there it sticks, a fragile skin-thickness from the outside world.”

“The x-ray of your skull shows a large, flobby mass floating inside. I have to consult my colleagues to be certain, but it looks like a long sausage snarled into a lump.”