“It’s a brilliant song! C’mon…’Every day is like survival. You’re my lover, not my rival.’ What could be more meaningful than that? (Jesse)”

“I think my strength comes from being an insane drunk. Near death. Wanting death like a lover every day for years. My talent comes from madness - having survived madness.”

“It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio, how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces.”

“C’mon,” he said. “One foot in front of the other. You know how it’s done”“You’re interfering with my plan.”“Oh really?”“Yes. Faint, get trampled, grievous injuries all around.”“That sounds like a brilliant plan.”“Ah, but if I’m horribly maimed, I won’t be able to cross the Fold.”Mal nodded slowly. “I see. I can shove you under a cart if that would help.”

“Ectoplasmic plane? What the devil is that? (Simone)It’s jargon from those of us who are corporeally challenged. It’s the great beyond where we bounce into each other like floundering atoms. It’s really kind of gross – which is why I hang out with you. But only because you’re less gross than they are. (Jesse)”

“Of all the plagues a lover bears,Sure rivals are the worstI can endure my own despair, But not another’s hope.”