bite me. oh wait, you can't from way out there." - eve

What was your name again?" "Still Eve." "No, I'm sure it's something else. That doesn't seem right.

It's not your enemies who are likeliest to hurt you. It is, always, those you trust.

You'd be surprised what people will do for money that they wouldn't do for love. Myrnin.

I think so,” she [Claire] said. “Just watch your back, okay?” “Nah, Michael’s got mine.” He [Shane] looked straight into her eyes. “I’ve got yours.

Promise me, Amelie, that you’ll crucify me with silver before you allow me to fall in love.” “I hardly think there’s any chance of that,” Amelie said. "I doubt you have the capacity.

Myrnin to Claire: "If anyone comes to bite you while I'm gone - well, try not to attract attention. Die quietly.

I'm worried he's going to ... do something crazy." "He lives in a hole in the ground, dresses funny, and occasionally eats his assistants," Eve said. "Define crazy.

Morely: You're trying to make me [i]Amelie[/i] Oliver: Goodness, no. You'd look terrible in a skirt

See?" she heard Shane yell at the kitchen. "She doesn't stomp around like a cattle stampede!" "Bite me, Collins! No bacon for you, either!

Shane talking to Claire - "In this whole screwed up town, you're the only thing that's always been right to me," He whispered. "I love you, Claire

Babies in silk hats playing with dynamite.

Alekhine developed as a player much more slowly than most. In his twenties, he was an atrocious chessplayer, and didn't mature until he was well into his thirties.

Into the eternal darkness, into fire and into ice.

We take Aristotle seriously not when we write about his ideas, but when we take his ideas as part of our discussions.

I like how pure the expression is in music. You can go straight to the heart of an audience rather than through their brain.

No man can possibly improve in any company for which he has not respect enough to be under some degree of restraint.

We are like flowers always reaching up towards some shred of light. I find this wondrous, nearly magical, certainly brave.

Frivolous sorrow is folly. Frivolous enjoyment is not.

In no way can sport be considered a luxury object.

The New Yorker has devoted itself for 59 years not only to facts and literal accuracy but to truth. And truth begins, journalistically, with the facts.