“Oh! my name is John Wellington Wells,
I'm a dealer in magic and spells,
In blessings and curses
And ever-filled purses,
In prophecies, witches, and knells.

If you want a proud foe to "make tracks"—
If you'd melt a rich uncle in wax—
You've but to look in
On our resident Djinn,
Number seventy, Simmery Axe!”

“A notable quotation is when Qasim asked his Uncle Hussain, if his name would be amongst the names of those who would be blessed with martyrdom in the battle for Islam at Karbala. His Uncle replied asking, "How do you find death Qasim? Qasim replied, Oh my Uncle; I do not fear death. Death for Islam will be sweeter for me than honey.”

“Cursed?" I offered, my voice croaky because of my unshed tears.
"It isn't cursed." John said deliberately, rearranging the chain around my neck, "if you're wearing it. It's blessed.”

“It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want—oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!”

“…If you could ever get the poor to vote in this country, you'd have socialism. But people want to think rich. That's the genius of the capitalist system: either you're rich, or you want to be, or you think you ought to be.”

“I crawled in the street and I murmured,"I'm done."
Then up came Old Jenkins and shouted,"Oh son!"
"My word you do look well!
My word you do look well!
You're looking fine and in the pink!"
I shouted, "Am I? Come and have a drink!
You've put new life in me,
I'm sounder than a bell.
By gad! There's life in the old dog yet.
My word I do feel well!"”

“Fuckhead:
The name’s MariKETA.
Go to hell,
The WITCH, doing a creepy spell somewhere right now.”

“A well I bless my soul
What's wrong with me?
I'm itching like a man on a fuzzy tree.
My friends say I'm actin' wild as a bug.
I'm in love,
I'm all shook up.
Mm mm oh, oh, yeah, yeah!”

“Oh my God. You're a witch-hunter. I'm a witch. Hate to break it to you Daniel, but if you're a witch-hunter? You're doing it wrong."
He gave me a sidelong smile. "Maybe it's not that kind of hunting."
"Then you're definitely doing it wrong.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants," she says, somewhat cryptically. I purse my lips in disapproval. "You'd think the heart would know better.”