I think as readers we put ourselves in the protagonist's place because we want to be like that person. That's why sometimes we don't like protagonists who aren't all that nice; we want to relate to the protagonist.

Nothing like an arcane literary debate with your tyrannical master while you pass the time leading to your execution.

You can come back to friendship. You can let it drop, for five years or ten years, and come back to it.

You can't just sit in a corner weeping or you'll die.

If you show this devious little liar one atom's worth of compassion I will have you shot.

She whispered, 'C'etait la Verite?' Was that Verity? Or perhaps she just meant, Was that the truth? Was it true? Did any of it really happen? Were the last three hours real? 'Yes,' I whispered back. 'Oui. C'etait la verite.

Von Loewe really should know me well enough by now to realize that I am not going to face my execution without a fight. Or with anything remotely resembling dignity.