Grab it while you can because tomorrow could suck you dry.

Ireland is a land of poets and legends, of dreamers and rebels. All of these have music woven through and around them. Tunes for dancing or for weeping, for battle or for love.

Told you not to tell her.” “That's not how I work things. That's not how you build a relationship.” “Build a relationship.” Ryder snorted as he sent the drill whirling again. “You've been reading again.” “Blow me.

Peabody, you never cease to amaze me." "One day I'll tell you about my granny and her five lovers." "Five lovers isn't abnormal for a woman's lifetime." "Not in her lifetime; last month. All at the same time." Peabody glanced up, deadpan. "She's ninety-eight. I hope to take after her.

I'm damned if I'm going to be eaten by a bear when I'm naked." "I'm sure it's a more pleasant experience dressed.

If you can't dance on it, it isn't coffee.

And since I’m marrying into the Quartet, I have certain privileges and duties. If you’re sleeping with Laurel—” “I’m not sleeping with Laurel. We’re dating.” “Right, and the two of you are just going to hold hands, admire the moon, and sing camp songs.” “For a while. Minus the singing.