“Last quarter moon, can you tell me dear.”

“What do you do there, moon, in the sky? Tell me what you do, silent moon. When evening comes you rise and go contemplating wastelands; then you set.”

“Don't tell me the moon is shining, show me the glint of light on broken glass.”

“The world is dark and light is precious. Come closer, dear reader. You must trust me. I am telling you a story.”

“Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago.”

“Some people will tell you werewolves can only shapechange under a full moon, but people also say there's no such things as ghosts.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you're thinking seriously of building, when and if you are an architect?”
“Yes.”
“My dear fellow, who will let you?”
“That’s not the point. The point is, who will stop me?”

“Someone tells me: this kind of love is not viable. But how can you evaluate viability? Why is the viable a Good Thing? Why is it better to last than to burn?”

“Let me tell you something. This is my playpen, and I get the last word.”

“I go anywhere in the world they tell me to go, any time they tell me to, to fight anybody they want me to fight. I move my family anywhere they tell me to move to, on a day's notice, and I live in whatever quarters they assign me. I work whenever they tell me to work… and I like it.”