“Who are you?''My name is Francesca Giordano.'Il re dei contrabbandieri paled. He pressed himself into the high back of his chair and stared at me in disbelief.'You can't be her. She's old and has warts.''Because she is strega? Ask yourself, why would any self-respecting witch go about looking old and with warts?”

“We all make choices, Francesca. You are no different from anyone else in that regard. If you truly think otherwise, you are deluding yourself.”

“He was then sixty-two years old, an age by which most men are in the grave or at least occupying a chair in Death's antechamber.”

“Truly, Francesca, if all women were like you, I would become a Turk solely for the purpose of assembling a harem.”

“Giulia clasped her hands together just below her bosom, blinked moistly, and flung herself at Borgia's feet. 'My lord! My darling! How could I not be overcome with concern for you? Truly, the burdens you carry would crush any other man. How fortunate we are that Our Father in Heaven has endowed our father here on earth with such wisdom and strength to see us through this difficult time.'What amazed me - and still does - is that men actually believe such drivel. Even a man as worldly, as brilliant, and above all as cynical as Borgia will nod complacently and accept it as his due. Nor did Cesare so much as raise an eyebrow. I supposed he heard the same sort of thing often enough himself.”

“When he trapped you and the Jew?" "His name was David ben Eliezer." That he had a name, that he was a man, that he mattered, all had to be acknowledged by someone. The task seemed to fall to me.”

“Something unfathomable moved behind his eyes. He sighed deeply.'Do you ever, even once,' he asked, 'consider the price of caring about you?”