Perhaps you would not like being married to me,′ Beauty said. ‘I do not know how to talk to people, and I have terrible taste in shirts.

I don’t mind it so much when they’re fully dead, you understand. Something that’s supposed to be dead, and is dead, that’s no surprise but there’s something about a creature that GOING to be dead but isn’t yet, something that KNOWS it’s going to be dead and doesn’t want to be. I’ve never liked that.

Beauty is never private.

Then: “A man in a mustache is at the door to see Beauty,” Sylvia said one afternoon. “He looks as though he were going to speak German at me.

Does Tess like me?” David asked. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Alison said. “She hasn’t done anything to suggest she doesn’t, has she?” “No, not exactly, only – she looks at one as though she disapproves of how one parts one’s hair, or spells one’s name, somehow.

Fear being the operative word, and not panic, which is why most of us have learned to start each incident log with a command like “Fear not,” or “Dread not,” or “Be thou not dismayed,” or some other variation thereof.

I do not have any of even the littlest hard feelings all of my feelings about you are just so soft and so normal just normal soft feelings that you’re going to love.

If you will not marry me,” Mr. Beale said, “perhaps I will die of grief.” Beauty’s expression did not change. “I’m so unused to compliments. I’m afraid that I take them quite seriously.

Alison had a habit of replying only to a selected portion of David’s conversation, that which she considered worth discussing, and blandly ignoring the rest. It was a terrifically effective strategy; he had never been able to drag her back to a point once she had decided to abandon it.

I do not welcome Lord Vader quite literally attempting tot shove his religious beliefs down my throat.