Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand – blood and revenge are hammering in my head.

Meine Damen und Herren, Mesdames et Messieurs, Ladies and Gentlemen! Guden abend, bon soir, good evening! Wie geht's? Commen ça va? Do you feel good? (Yeah, I bet you do!)

I’m not your second choice. I’m not even in the same category. That’s why you don’t think this is cruel to me.

It’s all forgettable, with just a single drink, and yet, I always hesitate…

THIS IS HOW WE LIKE TO DO IT IN THE MURDER SCENE

The extent to which Shatterstar feels like this incredibly specific experience of being an autistic kid who hasn't quite figured out yet how differently you think from the people around you is… really jarring. It's incredibly on the nose.

Maybe it's the things I never learned how to do. Maybe it's the things I learned to do real well. Maybe it's the Irish whiskey that I like to drink.

What are you still doing in this field? Get out of the field! You should be in the hotel room! You should, at least, be trying to get back into the hotel room. Ah! Now the field is empty.

“Oh, man, this one time, Ianto – I told you about him, right?” There's a soft expression on Jack's face, and the Doctor just nods and lets him talk.

Clytemnestra dreams that she is nursing a snake at her breast – the baby who will bring about her death.

My legs may be tottery, I must go slow, and be careful of Old Deuteronomy.

Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters – sometimes very hastily – but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.”

She wants a daughter with an interior life so non-existent she could weather this world unendangered.

Everyone’s a monster to someone. Since you are so convinced that I am yours, I will be it.

I wouldn't know what to do with another chance if you gave it to me. I couldn't take the embrace of a real romance – it'd race right through me. I'm much better off the way things are. Much, much better off, better by far, by far…

A woman must continually watch herself. She is almost continually accompanied by her own image of herself.

Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized your luck and your lives from your unfinished reach, if I stole your births and your names and your deaths, if I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths – believe that even in my deliberateness, I was not deliberate.

If you tell me to my face that I should have left you there to rot, I will cry.

Listen. I need to say this. I’m not stupid. I know I screwed up what we had. But I would be dead right now without you, and… working with you being with you, side by side against the bastards… it felt right.

Being a person didn’t come naturally to me the way it seemed to for others. People who were sure of themselves awed me. I studied them and tried to mimic their ease.

One of the most difficult things to think about in life is one’s regrets. Something will happen to you, and you will do the wrong thing, and for years afterward you will wish you had done something different.

I can feel it eating at my mind. Like moths getting at a wool coat. You open the closet on the first day of winter and take it out and it falls to pieces in your hands. I just don’t want to succumb before… before I’m done.

How can I deal with this if he won't get with this? Am I gonna heal from this? He won't admit to it.

It’s not “natural” to speak well, eloquently, in an interesting articulate way.

I just think goodness is more interesting. Evil is constant. You can think of different ways to murder people, but you can do that at age five. But you have to be an adult to consciously, deliberately be good – and that’s complicated.

See? It’s not weird to smile.

Poor fool, no longer speak to me of ransom, nor argue it. In the time before Patroklos came to the day of his destiny, when it was the way of my heart’s choice to be sparing of the Trojans, and many I took alive and disposed of them. Now there is not one who can escape death.

Knowing you are faithless keeps me alive and hungry. Knowing you faithful would kill me with joy.

So be it. I’m your crowbar, if that’s what I am so far, until you get out of this mess. And I will pretend that I don’t know of your sins until you are ready to confess. But all the time, all the time, I’ll know, I’ll know.

epic gender neutral poncho moments

Wait where shadows mask or hide my scent – so many so-called friends working for the government.

I want a real rock 'n' roll guy, one in a gown slit to his thigh! Liquid eyeliner in his eye making him cry, cry, cry!

Not all of them. Some of them understand what we did. What I did. And know it can’t be forgiven just like that.

You used to slide down the carpeted stairs or the banister. You stuttered like a kaleidoscope because you knew too many words. We used to have taffy pulls. A vodka bottle gave you those raccoon eyes. We got beat up just for holding hands. Take ecstasy with me, baby.

An otherwise rational man, my father describes the train encounter as love at first sight. Upon arrival, he began courting my mother with such subtlety that it took her two years to realize she was being courted.

There is no encouragement for ghosts in most of our villages, for they scarcely have time to finish their first nap and turn themselves in their graves before their surviving friends have traveled away; so when they turn out at night they have no acquaintance left to call upon.

A lithe and promising young man, unmarried, was met by Ajax in the ninth year of the war, and died full tilt running onto his spear. He collapsed instantly, an unspeakable sorrow to his parents.

But whatever this is – it needs to be said, right? Getting rid of the cobwebs of “you’ve changed” and the “I wasn’t there for it” and the “we used to talk about everything.”

Necessity was the mother of invention, and apparently desperation was a hell of an aphrodisiac.

I find I’ve grown into a tall child.

Fable makes all things perfect in their kind, and her blind people must never look on the world and the sun.

I realized you were playing with me. But this is me, refusing to play. Did you think I was going to run all around the city, desperately trying to save everyone by myself? I’m not Batman. I have friends.

You are brilliant – and passionate, and determined. Staggeringly persistent, as well. Infuriating pest, I believe you’ve said. Because I’m not used to people caring whether I live or die.

This is how it always begins. Four people climb into a cockpit. Strap in. Take off. Something goes horribly, horribly wrong.

Not for me to touch you.

True, you’re Dark Phoenix, but you’re also still Jean Grey. No matter how hard you try, you can’t exorcise that part of yourself. It’s too fundamental. You can’t kill us because you love us. And we love you.

When we were found, I know we both grieved. You and me, we was as thick as thieves, so I swore, up and down, it was only me. So they took me away.

You think I've come to bore you with a long story of torment. And yet I swear I love this earth that scars and scalds, that burns my feet. And even hell is holy.

To be fair, one is proportionally more drunk when the potency of the wine one has consumed is suddenly multiplied by a factor of cat.

Beast is always going back to that place of the original 60s X-Men in that mansion, Warren putting his wings in a harness, and all of them hiding. He’s always about doing the “mutant outreach” and how “we can be participants in civil society and not embarrass ourselves!”