I am the Earl of Ravensmoor. And you are? (Sparhawk) Totally freaking out. (Taryn) Tis a most peculiar name, milady. Are you by chance Welsh? (Sparhawk)

And neither do I, asshole. (Wren) Wow. Multiple syllables and a whole sentence from the tiger. Who’d have ever thought it? Whoever she was, she must have had a lot of talent to make you speak. Next thing you know, she’ll have the dead walking. Quick, call a Dark-Hunter. I’m sure some of them would like another resurrection. (Dev)

You told me there wouldn’t be any Rod Serling voice-overs, yet here I am in the middle of a Twilight Zone episode. Oh, and let me guess the title of it, Night of the Terminally Stupid! (Channon)

We don't have to surrender our souls or our compassion.

Writers. For some reason, a lot of you reject what you hear and see in your heads. If you go too long ignoring it, it builds up and then you do all sorts of weird things. Mumble to yourself. Nightmares. Day-dreams. Total anarchy and chaos. Before you know it, the writer is either sitting in corner feverishly humming to his- or herself or on Prozac. You’re not on Prozac, are you? (Esther)

... he broke her heart and made her crave his touch even while she was trying to figure out where to hide his body.

Answer my question, Bacchus. I’m not one of your dickless Greeks to be kept waiting for an answer. (Camulus) You better take a more civil tone with me, Cam. I’m not one of your flaccid Celts to shake in terror of your wrath. You want to fight, boy, bring it on. (Dionysus) Whoa, hang on a second. Let’s save the fighting for when you two take over the world, okay? (Styxx)