Beside him a tiny elderly woman was leaning on a cane, studying him with curiosity. Since good manners seemed to require that he speak to her, Jon cast about for some sort of polite conversation pertinent to the occasion. “I hate funerals, don’t you?” He said. “I rather like them,” she said smugly. “At my age, I regard each funeral I attend as a personal triumph, because I was not the guest of honor.

Looking at you has been my favorite pastime from the moment you asked me to describe your face," he said solemnly, looking straight into her eyes.

We all do foolish things when we are in love. Don't we, your grace?

Missing you? I could cheerfully murder you.

True beauty springs from the heart and dwells in the eyes.

I want more from life than that and I have more to give.

Whitney: You black-hearted, treacherous, conniving scoundrel. Clayton: Your flattery warms my heart