I’ll see to you. It’s horrible. I’ll do it. You could catch… what I’ve got.

suddenly afraid that he'd just realized what they had done and was revolted

The Irishwoman had left! Something about a murder at home. The Irishwoman (underpaid) – a perfect jewel, a good old sort, a baker of rum cake – would never return. Mrs. Miles had begged her to show some concern for the burning soup. “Inhuman!” Patsy Houlihan had called her.

You are a Wood-elf, anyway, though Elves of any kind are strange folk. Yet you comfort me. Where you go, I will go. But you are a dwarf, and dwarves are strange folk. But you comfort me, Gimli, and I am glad to have you standing nigh with your stout legs and your hard axe.

When you're old and lonely, you will wish you'd married me. I could build a fire for you and bring you cakes and tea.

If I didn’t make it home tonight, it wasn’t because I didn’t love him, or didn’t want to watch a documentary on special scientific graphs, or was too obsessed with my job to relax and enjoy a good meal and some television, it was only because I was zapped out of existence.

You don't even like anything you like or the people you know, and all of your reasons to stay alive died.

Ianto has very realistic expectations about his lifespan with Torchwood, and part of those expectations are that, barring any massive screwups on his part, Jack will be the last person he is ever in love with, the person he spends the rest of his probably rather short life with.

Do you share the same sense of defeat? Have you realized all the things you'll never be? Ideals turn to resentment, open minds close up with cynicism. I've got no judgement for you, come on and ache with me.

Sometimes you want someone and you want to kiss them and be with them, but you can’t. Because responsibility demands sacrifice.

I am far from where we live and I have not learned how to forgive. But I will wait, I will wait, I will wait.

Hector fights courageously, stubbornly, at times exultantly in the near madness of victorious slaughter. But even this berserk fury is still the fighting spirit of the man of the polis, the protector of the community, not the individual rage for glory of a Diomedes or Achilles.

We've risen from the mud. We're different from the beasts. We've got the taste for blood, so let's eat all the priests.

There is only one other alternative before them, and that would be even more impossible: a dismissal of their feelings, of how much they have already sacrificed in the pursuit of this love.

a not-quite-lover’s promise

He pauses to lift the sealed envelope with his name on it up to the light. He still can’t make out the letters, and he gave his word he wouldn’t read it, but sometimes he wonders what it says.

You’re stalling. I’m relishing, is what I’m doing!

Taurus: Someone misses you a lot, Taurus. And even though you have nothing but endless time trapped out in a nightmarish desert hellscape, you have a hard time making a phone call longer than ten minutes. Maybe call a bit more than you do, Taurus!

The power to decide what is trivial – and what is annoying – is also part of the power to decide how “what happened” becomes “that which is said to have happened.”

Plug a night light in, leave the porch light on, because the small dark corners have designs on me.

Anyway! Point is, don’t let our appearances fool you. I could kill you five times before you hit the ground. But I won’t, on account of me being civil. For now.

I still love the people I’ve loved, even if I cross the street to avoid them.

A diminishing circle of friends is the first terrible diagnostic of a life in deep trouble: forgetting who will be there when our armored personalities run into the inevitable natural disasters and vulnerabilities found in even the most average existence.

I am drowning! There is no sign of land! You are coming down with me, hand in unlovable hand! And I hope you die! I hope we both die!

POE: Hey, what's your name? FN-2187: FN-2187! (Poe reacts; this tells him volumes about FN-2187's history.) POE: FN-what?! FN-2187: That's the only name they ever gave me! POE: Well, I ain't using it! FN, huh? Finn. I'm gonna call you Finn! That all right?

I thought I was so much better than you lot. You were always smarter and fiercer and braver, better looking, too, but he chose me. I thought that meant something. I should have known better. Oh, sweetheart. He didn't leave because of you. No, but he didn't stay because of me.

“What girl?” Shatterstar, apparently, has fixated on that part. Rictor shrugs against the dirt. “I dunno. Any girl.” “Is there a girl in particular?” “What? No,” Rictor huffs. “But there might be. In the future.” Fat fucking chance.

What’s wrong with you? How am I going to sit and talk to you about a novel themed almost entirely around the trauma of homosexuality and friendship and life’s grand questions and not catch on fire? I will talk to you about this stupid book, I’ve never wanted anything more.

So I wander in the rain as I slowly go insane.

When I grow up… this is the kind of place I want to live. Not in the ocean, but here… under the sky… where land stretches into the horizon… where wind travels far… and stars are free to shine as bright as they want.

Ah! There you are. You’re friends with a bird? I’m married to this damn bird.

This local loader guy goes: “Hey everybody, look! It’s David Cassidy!” Do you guys have any idea who David Cassidy is? Besides the fact that we both have fabulous, fabulous hair, there is one big difference between me and David Cassidy: I SUCK WAY MORE DICK THAN THAT GUY!

The damsel children of the sheiling-fold never saw sight but them, no never sight but them, never aught so beautiful!

If you are interested in stories with happy endings, boy are you in trouble.

You need to practice accepting yourself, with all of your quirks, in the company of other human beings.

A lovely lady of noble birth ventured forth in search of her lost love, joined by her two most loyal servants, sworn to follow her unto world’s end. On their journey, they met a sorcerer, as ancient as time itself. Moved by the lady’s devotion, he offered to be their guide, and they…

She learned how to use the press to her advantage, and then it killed her.

Oh, no, I knew that. I mean, obviously I knew that. I’m very into science.

I'm gonna die in a getaway car!

A single rose in your garden dwells; like any rose, it's not itself. It is my love in your garden grows. But let's pretend it's just a rose.

Are you here? Are you always here? I miss you. I think about you all the time. I hear your voice say my name when I dream and when I wake up, there are tears streaming down my face. I just miss you, it’s as simple as that. I want to tell you everything.

But that is merely the small gossip of Faery, the Little Stitches that join this world and the other.

We were sea bound and aimless at best, clutching to the wheel and those charts, but that sea was just a gambler at heart.

Long Day’s Journey Into Night’s intensely personal nature affords the play its stature in American theater history. This stature has to do with the deepest kind of emotional suffering, accompanied by the recognition and understanding of that suffering by the sufferer.

The scream grew in anguish, and it spread over the walls. It would not stop. It simply hung now below the sky, an audible reminder of the existence of agony. Half a dozen children screamed back at the night, trying to blot out the sound. Some wept, some only ran for home.

It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know.

I could understand a person if he said to go away! I could understand a person if he happened to be gay!

Why am I then obliged to Heaven that it has given me a soul? For it has created within me a source of sorrows from which that soul suffers.

But it’s no use… even after everything we went through, my memories still won’t come back. There is no future awaiting me, only emptiness.

I've come to make an announcement: Shadow the Hedgehog's a bitch-ass motherfucker! He pissed on my fucking wife!