He made her drunk, this man made her drunk; and every time his eyes flashed into hers she could not breathe.

She would thump them both, and she would apologize to neither.

Ivan had contrived somehow in the dark of night to replace every watermelon in the watermelon patch with a gravestone, and every gravestone in the engraver's lot with a watermelon

It hurt her eyes, almost, Ror City; and it didn't surprise her that Po should come from a place that shone.

King Drowden has given his men instructions to infiltrate the town, bribe townspeople for the secrets of their neighbors, steal the neighbors’ hidden treasures. Much more subtle than Drowden’s usual smash and burn technique. We do hope Drowden isn’t growing a brain.

Every configuration of people is an entirely new universe unto itself.

You're in fine temper," Raffin said. "Your hair is blue," she snapped back.