I Have Stolen Ideas From Every Book

I Told Him I Was Going To Betray You, And Betray Lyra, And He Believed Me Because I Was Corrupt And Full Of Wickedness; He Looked So Deep I Felt Sure He'd See The Truth. But I Lied Too Well. I Was Lying With Every Nerve And Fiber And Everything I'd Ever Done...i Wanted Him To Find No Good In Me, And He Didn't. There Is None.

D'you Know How Embarrassing It Is To Mention Good And Evil In A Scientific Laboratory? Have You Any Idea? One Of The Reasons I Became A Scientist Was Not To Have To Think About That Kind Of Thing.

On A Cold, Fretful Afternoon In Early October, 1872, A Hansom Cab Drew Up Outside The Offices Of Lockhart And Selby, Shipping Agents, In The Financial Heart Of London, And A Young Girl Got Out And Paid The Driver. She Was A Person Of Sixteen Or So--alone, And Uncommonly Pretty. She Was Slender And Pale, And Dressed In Mourning, With A Black Bonnet Under Which She Tucked Back A Straying Twist Of Blond Hair That The Wind Had Teased Loose. She Had Unusually Dark Brown Eyes For One So Fair. Her Name Was Sally Lockhart; And Within Fifteen Minutes, She Was Going To Kill A Man.

'thou Shalt Not' Might Reach The Head, But It Takes 'once Upon A Time' To Reach The Heart.

The Idea Hovered And Shimmered Delicately, Like A Soap Bubble, And She Dared Not Even Look At It Directly In Case It Burst. But She Was Familiar With The Way Of Ideas, And She Let It Shimmer, Looking Away, Thinking About Something Else.