There in that white-gilt bedroom like a tomb, where I believe none of Gatsby's guests had ever before set foot except by mistake — none until Daisy, and I was only her adjunct and proxy, an accessory to her presence there in the house. He had forgotten about me then. He had forgotten about me now. I was his only witness.

When he is Lord of the Dreadfort he'll have ruby rings on his fingers.

There are other ways to engineer a crisis in Gilead.

Sing, o Muse, of the wrath of a philosophy major upon realizing his roommate/boyfriend has borrowed his copy of Fear & Trembling and has no intention of giving it back. Scenes from one highly troubled semester.

"Step into my fucking office."

And he shall cleanse the house with the blood of the bird, and with the running water, and with the living bird, and with the cedar wood, and with the hyssop, and with the scarlet:
But he shall let go the living bird out of the city into the open fields, and make an atonement for the house: and it shall be clean.

Peter gives Phil a bath.

Garrupe and Rodrigues, returning.

The king is sick, and the prince is his cure.

On the road, after the walls come down. Tris looks for answers; Peter looks for an ending.