People Are Afraid Of You, Arty. Girls

Will You Miss Him Holly?” He Asked Suddenly. [...] “no,” She Said. “i Will Not Miss Him.” But Her Eyes Told The Real Story.

Thankfully The Rest Of The World Assumed That The Irish Were Crazy, A Theory That The Irish Themselves Did Nothing To Debunk. They Had Somehow Got It Into Their Heads That Each Fairy Lugged Around A Pot Of Gold With Him Wherever He Went. While It Was True That Lep Had A Ransom Fund, Because Of Its Officers' High-risk Occupation, No Human Had Ever Taken A Chunk Of It Yet. This Didn't Stop The Irish Population In General From Skulking Around Rainbows, Hoping To Win The Supernatural Lottery.

Orion Brightened. "i Have An Idea." "yes?" Said Foaly, Daring To Hope That A Spark Of Artemis Remained. "why Don't We Look For Some Magic Stones That Can Grant Wishes? Or, If That Doesn't Work, You Could Search My Naked Body For Some Mysterious Birthmark That Means I Am Actually The Prince Of Somewhere Or Other.

Commander: What's That? Foaly: It's A Finger, What Does Look Like?

If I Win, I'm A Prodigy. If I Lose, Then I'm Crazy. That's The Way History Is Written.