“If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink,Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.”

“My writing tools were my most precious belongings. My best quill pen was made from a raven’s feather . . . I was often so poor that I could not pay my mantua-maker, but I always invested in the best ink and parchment. I smoothed it with pumice stone till it was as white and fine as my own skin, ready to absorb the rapid scratching of my quill”

“Would I be healed now if you gave me your blood, Nikolai?”“Are you asking me for it?”“If I were, would you give it to me?”

“If you were advising your great-granddaughter about the man you have a crush on at this moment-what would you tell her? Would you be protective, and tell her to kick this man to the curb because he's treating her so badly, or would you tell her to hold on to this man for dear life? Now, why aren't you taking your own advice?”

“I'm not stupid," I muttered lamely."Well, why else would you tell Alex to go anywhere? What will we do for eye candy now? Were you thinking of Nate at all? Were you thinking of me? I think you're incredibly selfish, Lila.”

“I shall not tell your husband and you shall not tell my wife."Tell them what?"That you and I were outwitted by a ropma."That would be shamful."Girl, we could never live it down.”