When you see the crooked Warden," said Locke, twisting something in his hands, "tell hi that Lock Lamora learns slowly, but he learns well. And when you see my friends, you tell them that there are more of you on the way.

... It's perfect! Locke would appreciate it." "Bug," Calo said, "Locke is our brother and our love for him knows no bounds. But the four most fatal words in the Therin language are 'Locke would appreciate it.'" "Rivalled only by 'Locke taught me a new trick,'" added Galo. "The only person who gets away with Locke Lamora games ..." "... is Locke ..." "... because we think the gods are saving him up for a really big death. Something with knives and hot irons ..." "... and fifty thousand cheering spectators.

In the glass burrow beneath their feet, the flames began to rise. First the flames, and then the screams

Throwing blondes at Locke Lamora was not unlike throwing lettuce at sharks.

I don't have to beat you. I don't have to beat you, motherfucker. I just have to keep you here... until Jean shows up.

Crooked Warden, I will fear no darkness for the night is yours," muttered Locke, pointing the first two fingers of his left hand into the darkness. The Dagger of the Thirteenth, a thief's gesture against evil. "Your night is my cloak, my shield, my escape from those who hunt to feed the noose. I will fear no evil, for you have made the night my friend." "Bless the Benefactor," said Jean, squeezing Locke's left forearm. "Peace and profit to his children.

You simply collapsed, sir. In layman's terms, your body revoked its permission for you to continue heaping abuse upon it.