“Well, Bud," he said, looking at me, "I'll be damned if you don't go to a lot of trouble to have your fun. Kidnapping, then fighting. What do you do on your holidays? Burn houses?”

“You wanna fight?" I asked.He looked up at me and, for just a second, hesitated, then said, "Yeah. I do.""Well, I'll save you the trouble. You win.”

“Folks look around, what do you see and what do you have in your hand or in your house? Don't you ever underestimate what is in your hand or in your house, it doesn't matter how little it is.”

“Why are we doing this?" Caine asked him. "You know damned well why we're doing this. Because it's a fight. It may be THE fight. I may be the final fight. And what else are we good at, you and me? What are we going to do if we ever get out there anyway?”

“Stop it," spluttered Eustace, "go away. Put that thing away. It's not safe. Stop it, I say. I'll tell Caspian. I'll have you muzzled and tied up." "Why do you not draw your own sword, poltroon!" cheeped the Mouse. "Draw and fight or I'll beat you black and blue with the flat." "I haven't got one," said Eustace. "I'm a pacifist. I don't believe in fighting." "Do I understand," said Reepicheep, withdrawing his sword for a moment and speaking very sternly, "that you do not intend to give me satisfaction?”

“That's it? 'Damn, it smells like the fishsticks are burning and don't do that with your head, Bode?' What the fuck?”