God doesn't like lesbians," Grandma Huberman hised, throwing the magazine in the trash. Jennifer knew what lesbian meant, and she knew she probably was one. But she couldn't understand why God would hold that against her or against Monica Mathers, who'd never started a war or killed anybody, and whose deadeye three-pointers were straight-up amazing. After all, hadn't God made both of them? But people were like that, she'd noticed. They'd invoke Godly privilege at the weirdest of times and for the most stupid reasons.

Writers are also sort of like vultures, but with fewer ethics.

They see her differently now, as somebody. And isn't that what everyone wants? To be seen?

Naughty John, Naughty John, does his work with his apron on. Cuts your throat and takes your bones, sells 'em off for a coupla stones.

Jeez, someone needs to push the reset button on this planet.

A man bumps me on his busy way without so much as an apology. But that is all right. I forgive you, busy man about town with the sharp elbows. Hail and farewell to you! For I, Gemma Doyle, am to have a splendid Christmas in London town. All shall be well. God rest us merry gentlemen. And gentlewomen.

She was chosen,' Mae insists. No, you're wrong,' I say. 'She was only a girl.'... She was gone for some time. You were the only force that kept her from turning completely. That's magic. Perhaps the most powerful I've seen.' -In response to Felicity's love for Pippa keeping her from turning into a Winterland creature.