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

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.

I'll wager I would have screwed things up regardless. But. . .can you imagine those poor bastards grappling their prey, leaping over the rails, swords in hand, screaming, 'Your cats! Give us all your gods-damned cats!

We like what we like, we want what we want, and nobody needs to give us permission to feel that way!

Worst of all, the inner vault is guarded by a live dragon, attended by fifty naked women armed with poisoned spears, each of them sworn to die in Requin's service. All redheads. -You're just making that up, Jean.

Quit being so hard on yourself. We are what we are; we love what we love. We don't need to justify it to anyone... not even to ourselves.

Cold walls do not a prison make, nor iron bands a bondsman.