Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.

Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours.

Jewels can be replaced, cousin. Independence, once lost, cannot.

Truly, we are the gods' own children, forged in the fire of our tortured pasts, but also blessed with unimaginable gifts.

... then he offers me his arm. As I take it, I wonder what folly decreed that women cannot walk unassisted.

God's Teeth,' he says. 'I was only trying to wake you. You were crying out in your sleep.' 'I was not,' I say, then look from his neck to my knife. 'When I tried to wake you, you stabbed me.' He sounds sore put out. and I cannot blame him.

Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours, until Death do us part. Whatever that may mean when consorting with one of Death’s handmaidens.