You should be home sleeping. What is the use of having a man in the house, if he cannot take care of you for a while?” “Mmm,” I said. “I give up. What's the use of having a man in the house?

C’est moi, c’est moi,’tis I,' I told him. It seemed appropriately melodramatic, though I didn’t know if he’d catch the reference. I shouldn’t have worried. Unexpectedly, he laughed. “Trust you to quote Lancelot rather than Guinevere.

Yes,' he said sincerely. 'Such a one deserves peanut butter on the seat of his pants.

The devout belief that the world is explainable is both a terrible vulnerability and a stout shield.

Don’t lick the guests, darling. Bad manners.

You will eat this and go to sleep, so your pronouns get their antecedents back.

Then he'd come back home and found out that war didn't cause fear- love did.