I'm not witch. I'm your wife.

I seemed busy, busy, busy, but I suppose, if pressed, I might have admitted that, for all my frenzy, I was very much alone.

She loves you," the Prince cried. "She loves you still and you love her, so think of that--think of this too: in all this world, you might have been happy, genuinely happy. Not one couple in a century has that chance, not really, no matter what the storybooks say, but you could have had it, and so, I would think, no one will ever suffer a loss as great as you.

Buttercup's mother hesitated, then put her stew spoon down. (This was after stew, but so is everything. When the first man first clambered from the slime and made his first home on land, what he had for supper that first night was stew.)

You are trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen, and I think it quite ungentlemanly.

This is my favorite book in all the world, though I have never read it.

I don't guess. I think. I ponder. I deduce. Then I decide. But I never guess.