“I was not so old that I would deny my own senses.”

“I feel like I'm in a world with its own sense of logic.”

“I would dower you with experience, without experience."and I, in my turn, would pass that on to you.But we make our own mistakes. We sleep unwisely”

“Whatever happened to me in my life, happened to me as a writer of plays. I'd fall in love, or fall in lust. And at the height of my passion, I would think, 'So this is how it feels,' and I would tie it up in pretty words. I watched my life as if it were happening to someone else. My son died. And I was hurt, but I watched my hurt, and even relished it, a little, for now I could write a real death, a true loss. My heart was broken by my dark lady, and I wept, in my room, alone; but while I wept, somewhere inside I smiled. For I knew I could take my broken heart and place it on the stage of The Globe, and make the pit cry tears of their own.”

“I will dream if I want to, I said, and my death is my own affair.”

“Let us begin this letter, this prelude to an encounter, formally, as a declaration, in the old-fashioned way: I love you. You do not know me (although you have seen me, smiled at me). I know you (although not so well as I would like. I want to be there when your eyes flutter open in the morning, and you see me, and you smile. Surely this would be paradise enough?). So I do declare myself to you now, with pen set to paper. I declare it again: I love you.”

“How old are you?" asked Door. Richard was pleased she had asked; he would never have dared."As old as my tongue," said Hunter, primly, "and a little older than my teeth.”