You're ten pints of crazy in a one-pint glass.

Advice,' Doña Vorchenza chuckled. 'Advice. The years play a sort of alchemical trick, transmuting one's mutterings to a state of respectability. Give advice at forty and you're a nag. Give it at seventy and you're a sage.

Are you smarter than a pig, Locke?” “On occasion,” said Locke. “There are contrary opinions.

My name's Jean Tannen, and I'm the ambush.

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

What kind of knife is this?” Locke held a rounded buttering utensil up for Chains’ inspection. “It’s all wrong. You couldn’t kill anyone with this.

Enlightenment! When it comes, it comes like a brick to the head, doesn't it?