"This was one of their love poems: Mo Rog Glonog, Quinba, Hlin varr. It meant: "Give me a kiss, please, Miss. I like your nose." From <b> <i>Mistr… - T. H. White

Oh, I love the mustard-pot!” cried the Wart. “Wherever did you get it?” At this the pot beamed all over its face and began to strut a bit, but Merlyn rapped it on the head with a teaspoon, so that it sat down and shut up at once. “It is not a bad pot,” he said grudgingly. “Only it is inclined to give itself airs.

"The word "feral" has a kind of magic potency which allied itself to two other words, "ferocious" and "free." To revert to a feral state!"

"The best cure for grief is learning".