Adult female. Died of starvation. Her baby died first, and she knew what that meant. She knew she was one of the last. She grieved the loss of her child. She called for other mammoths, but she was alone; her family had all died earlier. Then she died too. It was very cold…

Seein’ the Elf alive – it’s like a mule kick to the gut. Gotta control my emotions. Can’t afford to get distracted.

this bottomless well of insecurity and no matter how many buckets of woe you draw out there’s always more where that came from

When you leave me alone in this old palace of yours, it starts to get to me. I take to walking. What a woman does is open doors, and it is not a question of locking or unlocking. I have never seen such a terrible room, gilded with the gold teeth of the women who loved you!

Parties with Gregg are different.
How so?
You know how you want to just go and stand in a corner sometimes?
Yeah.
Gregg’s my corner.

Being chased by Columbo is like being nibbled to death by a duck.

You've got a friend in Beelzebub, he follows you round like a dog. You know more than you should know about secret geometry. Belphegor and Baphomet have had you round for tea. You sometimes drop in unannounced on Lucifer and me.

Watanuki faltered, and Doumeki couldn't remember ever hearing him falter. Not when he was like this, a wish shop keeper in all his terrible power.

You don't love me, big fucking deal. I'll never tell you how I feel.

Time, doing this to me, may alter too my anguish into something I can bear.

I desperately want to be her top priority because she will always be mine.

They used to have meals together. He panicked, he tried to run back to those times, but time itself finished him.

Gawain himself acknowledges that there's no such thing as earthly perfection, that there's always a flaw, but that acknowledging this, recognizing your own imperfect nature, can be a hard-won achievement in and of itself.

His love for his family and his family’s love for him are two sides of a single dialogue of love between them.

I loved. And a man will guard when he loves. Their white-gowned democracy was my fair lady. With her knife lying cold, straight, in the softness of her sweet-flowing sleeve. But for the sake of the dear smiling mouth and the stuttered promise, I toyed with my life.

You're laughing and I'm waving back – easy, but you're nothing like that.

The cubes emit some sort of strange, pulsing energy. The energy would be difficult to describe in scientific terms but he would probably use the scientific terms “pulsing” and “strange.”

Is earnestness enough? May earnestness attract or lead to light? Is light enough, if hands in clumsy frenzy, flimsy whimsicality, enlist? Is light enough when this bewilderment, crying against the dark, shuts down the shades?

While she ‘takes away the narrative’ in the sense of leaving out the story of the Trojan War, she does not take away the narrator, who leads a lament in a poem that makes its focus on grieving explicit throughout.

He changed his mind from that of a normal (though vulnerable, and cursed-by-inheritance) man into that of an infatuated man, one capable of all recklessness.