No," she cried, "no, no, I'm not a harem, I'm not a woman, I'm not a person, no.

It appears history is going to keep happening, despite our hopes for retirement.

How deeply bound by cords of family anger we all are[...]None of us breaks free.

The world rarely shrieks its meaning at you. It whispers, in private languages and obscure modalities, in arcane and quixotic imagery, through symbol systems in which every element has multiple meanings determined by juxtaposition.

I shall pray for your soul,' promised Nessarose. I shall wait for your shoes,' Elphie answered.

Old Flossie settle down on the other side of What-the-Dickens and dragged some handiwork out of a sack. She armed herself with two thorns shaped into knitting needles. A wodge of curlicued metallic scrubbing pad supplied the threat. 'I knit handcuffs as a hobby,' explained Old Flossie happily, and set to work. 'Idle hands get up to no good, so I like to be prepared in case I meet up with any idle hands.

A man is called a traitor, or liberator. A rich man is a thief or philanthropist. Is one a crusader or ruthless invader? It's all in which label is able to persist.