“Good, happy, swift; there's gunpowder i'th' court,Wildfire at midnight in this heedless fury.”
“There's a sort of dead passion in him. A spark that, had he more years to live, would be a wildfire.”
“Ha! What news here? Is the day out a' th' socketThat it is noon at midnight? The court up?”
“Hearsay - there's a reason it's not admissible in court.”
“It's the new me," I explained, waving my hands jazz-style in greeting. "Matthew Swift, Midnight fucking Mayor - I've got multicoloured highlighters and everything.”
“I had concocted the gunpowder myself from niter, sulfur, charcoal, and a happy heart. When working with explosives, I've found that attitude is everything.”