Oh, I'm so sick and tired of pretending this is a home! You won't help me! You won't put yourself out the least bit! You don't know how to act in a home! You don't really want one! You never wanted one – never since the day we were married!

The familiar metaphor seems never to have dismayed her. For her, Death still swung his scythe, and the poems in which he does so with the old familiar ruthlessness betray no nervous apprehension that the instrument may have become rusty or blunted with the use of ages.

There's a lot of ways to make money in this world, but I can't recommend insurance fraud.

You couldn't have picked someone easier for your first relationship? I mean, him and me, we go way back, and I love the guy like the brother I never wanted, but he's hard mode all the way. You sound like him when you talk like that.

As the Bacchae knew, we always tear our Gods to bits, and eat the bits we like.

When you betray me, betray me with a kiss. Damn you, I've never stayed up as late as this.

The stretch of road that leads out of the city, past Hazy Harbor and into the town of Tedia, is perhaps the most unpleasant in the world. It is called Lousy Lane.

I will not be able to return any feelings on their part. There is – I am already consumed in my work to even consider… To even consider courtship. Is there anything that could make you?

There will be goodbyes by dozens, so practice being brave.

This vision of America’s role in the world, the very concept of exceptionalism itself, trades on the idea of American innocence: that the United States, unlike the rest of the world, is in some sense free from the terrors of history.

All the things you said you'd never say and you said anyway.

Come on, Seymour, don't be a putz! Trust me and your life will surely rival King Tut's! Show a little initiative, boy! Work up some guts, and you'll get it! I don't know… I don't know…! I have so, so many strong reservations! Should I go and perform… mutilations?

Poor baby, all alone! Throw a lonely dog a bone, it’s still a bone!

ghoulish little tart

42 of our students were killed in a rocket attack by a human who hated mutants simply because they existed. 42 children. The youngest was a girl named Amber. She was about to turn 13. Oh, god. How odd… I don’t see the Avengers here, pulling her body from the wreckage.

Sure enough, just in front of us was what looked like a big black dog, but it wasn’t a dog at all. It was the Hateful Thing, which had been seen hereabouts before.

You hear this voice? This is my mind’s voice; you can’t touch my body now. It has changed once, it has hardened, don’t ask it to respond again.

We need not test the desire and we know you have sufficient motive to deliver the death blow. Therefore we need only prove your knowledge and speed and stamina. We need no enemy for this. The enemy is always in the mind. Visualize him.

The Emissary is saying… in a thousand years, we will turn the vastness of space red for no reason. There was never a purpose to this war we made.

How powerfully I carry her within me. My grief is tremendous but my love is bigger.

I think I’m in love with you. What? You think? No, sorry. I don’t think – You don’t? No! What? I don’t think – I know! Know what? I know I’m in love with you! I love you. Oh!

Did you… allow yourself to die? So you could see Patroclus again, here? … I don’t know. Maybe. I only know that I was filled with rage. Rage that subsided, soon after I arrived here. I felt… empty. I never saw Patroclus again.

The past is gone, and cannot harm you anymore. And while the future is fast coming for you, it always flinches first, and settles in as the gentle present.

Being treated as such, he feels suddenly fragile.

I have been… a very foolish man. Not because I did not see your feelings for what they are when you made every attempt to hide them. I have been a fool because I have looked in all the wrong places and asked all the wrong questions.

When Death came calling today, I heard the gentle grace of his cadences. He showed me his silk scarves laid out on a tray. I couldn’t say no. I'm sorry I couldn't, do you know how badly I wanted to? I didn't want to lose you. But his smile was dazzling. His eyes were sparkling.

You are a most excellent swordsman. Thank you. I have worked very hard to become so. You are better than I am. So it seems. But if that is true, then why are you smiling? Because I know something you don’t know. And what is that? I’m not left-handed.

Bad theater is I think the worst art form for me. There’s something about someone emoting very close to me and me being unmoved that is way worse than a bad book, a bad song, or a bad painting. It’s really tough for me. I feel like they’re going to see me not responding.

My head is like a pumpkin with eyes: both hollow and lit. Hollow except for a few seeds, left over from my birth, and long bits of stringy, mashed flesh – yet someone, who was definitely not myself, has placed a candle there. It positively glows.

“Have I failed you yet?” he demanded, words bitter on his tongue. She had only to say yes and that would be the end of him. A no would raise the bar beneath his feet, and already he danced on bloody toes to leap it, higher and higher before the fall.

I wasn't afraid of the bullies, and that just made the bullies worse.

We took turns making each other breakfast whenever we thought it was morning.

I have to remind myself that even as I hurt these innocent people, I do it so that I can save their lives. This is for the greater good. I repeat it with every blow – a mantra. I regret that I will have given them another reason to fear the dark.

But then the door slammed shut and vanished. And I remembered that I am not from Night Vale. As far as the laws of the universe are concerned, it is not where I belong. Cecil, I don’t even remember how I got to Night Vale in the first place. I mean, where is Night Vale, even?

We were arguing. You want love to be like this every day, don’t you? 92 degrees even in the shade. This intensity, this heat, sun like a disc-saw through your body.

Throw my better self overboard. Shoot at him when he comes up for air.

No intelligent person can rebuke me for this, for we have seen that some of our sages of blessed memory did not disdain the knowledge of fox-fables, washers’ parables, or the speech of palm trees.

Is it impossible for us to have a regular conversation, no tricks or contests? I doubt you’d be so fond of me. You’ve any number of companions with whom to have 'regular conversations.' So I should talk to them if I’m not in the mood to jump through your hoops, is that it?

He’s going to die in his arms before they have even ever kissed and it will all be very poetic and tragic. It will make a splendid opera. He hopes everyone cries.

A friend knows our difficulties and shadows and remains in sight, a companion to our vulnerabilities more than our triumphs.

Surely they’ll come get me. Surely they didn’t love me all that time for this.

She brushes his temple with her thumb. Ianto stirs at the movement, turning his face towards her and struggling to open his eyes. “Jack?” he murmurs, his accent thicker than usual. All of them cringe in unison.

We stand together in front of the mirror to admire the result. My face looks older. Different. Maybe it is a trick of the light, maybe it is the beautiful scarf, but I feel like I look wiser, like someone I would ask for advice, not someone asking for it.

You could engineer a situation of some danger so she’s forced to come to your aid. Never ask your Papa for dating advice. It would be the most expedient approach. And it would save you the trouble of coming up with a topic of conversation. Why. Why did I marry you.

We all get together when we bury our friends! It’s been ten fucking years since I’ve been seeing your face ‘round here!

“In conclusion, the moon is totally real. You’d better believe it.” Then there’s a winking smiley face. Wow, this looks like real science! Scuse me, I might be able to help determine what is and isn’t science, okay? For instance, minivans? Science. Horses? Pure fiction.

I cannot say that I have gone to hell for your love, but often found myself there in your pursuit.

“Oh?” I said. “Do you need help?” “No,” he said. “A scientist is self-reliant. It’s the first thing a scientist is.” “Oh,” I said again, but softer, sadder – which is when he leaned forward and kissed me. Just once. Just… gently. Just before slipping out of the car.

Fai’s hand followed his as if on instinct, having been held by it for so long now that it was more natural for them to stay together than come apart.

Now you're telling me I'm responsible for all this as well? For the future of the bloody human race? I'm a stupid wide-eyed ex-copper who thought she could change the world with a smile and a bit of heart, but I was never meant for this job!