It's just another of Robin's sayings. Like, 'Holy strawberries, Batman, we're in a jam! Or, Holy Kleenex, Batman, it was right under our nose and we blew it!

I gained everything. Or at least I'll think so," he growled, suddenly impatient, anxious, "when you give me a bloody answer to my bloody question. How many times are you going to make me ask you? Will you marry me, Gabrielle O'Callaghan? Yes or yes? And in case you're still managing to miss the point, the correct answer is 'yes.' And, by the way, anytime you'd like to tell me you love me, I wouldn't mind hearing it.

What is trust, sidhe-seer, but expectation that another will behave in a certain fashion, consistent with prior actions?

Good and evil are merely opposite sides of a coin. Get tossed in the air enough, it's easy to come down on the wrong side.

Churches crack me up. They're like money, a conspiracy of faith. Like everyone agreed to believe that not only is there a God, but he comes down and checks on folks, so long as they hang in certain places, put up alters, burn lots of candles and incense, and perform sit-stand-kneel and other wacky rituals that'd make a coven of witches not look OCD.

No way. I'm not going in there. I draw the line at grave-robbing, Barrons. It's not your pen.

A wing or a thigh? Ah, I'm afraid we don't have any thighs left.