“You probably think that being a guest in your aunt's house I would hesitate to butter you all over the front lawn and dance on the fragments in hobnailed boots, but you are mistaken. It would be a genuine pleasure. By an odd coincidence I brought a pair of hobnailed boots with me!' So saying, and recognising a good exit line when he saw one, he strode out, and after an interval of tense meditation I followed him. (Spode to Wooster)”

“You have what I call a "male brow." Which is a frown brought on when you're thinking about your male and you either want to boot him in the ass or wrap your arms around him and hold him 'til he can't breathe.”

“You want to know why I brought you out here." "The question had crossed my mind, yes. But I figured it was probably to buy me horses or feed me caviar. Or, you know, to kill me." He looks up surprised. "Kill you? No. And in the future I would say if you suspect someone wants to kill you, you shouldn't follow him into the woods.”

“All you need to get to heaven is a good pair of boots.”

“My pleasure. Listen,” he called after her, “this is as far as I can go. They poisoned the water out there and I can’t follow you now. If you do see Powell, will you give him a message for me?” “Sure,” she said, turning around. “Tell him I have his boots in my truck. In case he’s looking for ’em.” Chey smiled. It felt wrong on her face, but she liked it all the same. “I’ll do that.”

“There's no boot."No boot?"No."That makes me sad."I ate it."You ate the boot?"Yes."Was it good?"No. Were the cigarettes good?"No. I couldn't finish them."I couldn't finish the boot.”