I propose a treaty. You can have all the rest of the women in the universe. I just want this one. - Lois McMaster Bujold

“When he invited me to one for the Winterfair season, I wasn’t sure if it was hunting or social, and whether I should pack weapons or dresses.”
Lady Vorpatril’s smile sharpened. “Dresses are weapons, my dear, in sufficiently skilled hands.”

For her, this was a metaphor, he reminded himself. Though maybe he was a metaphor too, inside his head with the Black Gang. A metaphor gone metastatic. Metaphors could do that, under enough pressure.

I have a catchphrase to describe my plot-generation technique — "What's the worst possible thing I can do to these people?"