You're going to break my heart, aren't you?

An original thought would crack your feeble skull like a thunderbolt, you craven vulture.

Marry for love, stay married, and raise happy children who are quick to laugh and slow to judge.

He wanted her to experience all the glorious cheese of life.

And I'll have you know that if you hurt my son again, if he so much as sighs sadly over his coffee, I will hire a man, a Russian, probably, to hunt you down and rip all that shiny black hair from your head, then break your skinny arms and legs, and set you on fire, and then put you out with a hammer. And should there be children from your beastly rutting, I shall have the Russian man cut them to tiny pieces and feed them to Madame Jacob's dog. because, although he may be only a worthless, simpleminded, libertine artist, Lucien is my favorite, and I will not have him hurt. Do you understand?

It's Christmas! Ah, Christmas, the time when all good people go about not decapitating each other.

Shoes off in the whale! And don't try and make a break for the anus.