“They guillotined Charlotte Corday and they said Marat is dead. No, Marat is not dead. Put him in the Pantheon or throw him in the sewer; it doesn’t matter-he’s back the next day. He’s reborn in the man who has no job, the woman who has no bread, in the girl who has to sell her body, in the child who hasn’t learned to read; he’s reborn in the unheated tenement, in the wretched mattress without blankets, in the unemployed, in the proletariat, in the brothel, in the jailhouse, in your laws that show no pity, in your schools that give no future, and he appears in all that is ignorance and he recreates himself from all that is darkness. Oh, beware human society: you cannot kill Marat until you have killed the misery of poverty!”

“She was like Marat only with nobody to kill her.”

“I trust that I raised a strong enough woman to know who’s worthy of her and who isn’t. If this guy is good enough for you, and he’s the one who has you floating around on cloud nine and giving you back your spark, you can be damn sure he’s good enough for me.”

“Baby that’s impossible, you can’t give him something you don’t have. That man who just walked out of this house, he’s the one who has the majority of it. Chris, he only has the tiny pieces that were left behind when it got broken”

“I am also, well… I’m in awe. He’s killed people, and saved people. He’s fought monsters, and he’s fought men who became monsters. He’s saved kingdoms and toppled empires. Now he has set himself against the gods to save a universe… and I used to change his diapers. I used to yell at him to make his bed.”

“He was having a bad day. He’s worse than a girl, trust me. He doesn’t hate you. We’re twins. Even I want to kill him on days that end with a Y(...)”