The worst, the very worst requirement of friendship, in Eve Dallas's opinion, was sitting through an entire evening of childbirth classes. What went on there--the sights, the sounds, the assault on all the senses--turned the blood cold.

"What was that technique you were using on those bastards?" "An ancient form called kicking ass."

The very young and the very old often saw what others could not. Or would not.

Parker: She believed, absolutely, that each person, each heart, had a counterpart—had a mate. A rightness. She’d always believed it, and understood that unshakable belief was a reason she was good at what she did.

She could and had faced an armed laser in the hands of a mad mutant mercenary with less fear than she faced such unswerving emotion.

It looks like Armani and Cartier went to war.

"Statues are too much like dolls, and dolls are creepy. You keep expecting them to blink. And the ones that smile, like this?" Eve kept her lips tight together and she curved them up. "You know they've got teeth in there. Big, sharp, shiny teeth." "I didn't. But now I've got to worry about it."