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“He was... wearing a tasselled velvet nightcap that I [Amy] noticed the Doctor eyeing up. If Boris didn't watch out, that'd go missing and we'd never hear the end of 'Nightcaps are cool.”
― James Goss, Doctor Who: Dead of Winter

“I've had enough of things being complicated between us," I replied. "I will never stop being terrified of the prospect of marrying you. How could I? It would make me queen of a land of nightmares. But I would like to settle this side of things, at least."
"This side of--?"
I kissed him matter-of-factly. He drew back, and at last he seemed to understand the significance of my interest in spending the night in a tent, as well as my joke about the wine.
"You know," he said, beginning to smile, "the cottage would be rather more comfortable."
"The cottage is too crowded for my liking," I replied. "And I don't wish to give Rose another reason to scowl forebodingly at me. Would you prefer to wait?�
In answer, he kissed me--- much more slowly than the kiss I had given him, and more skillfully too, I'm afraid. Afterwards he didn't lean back as I'd expected, but trailed his lips down my neck, sending a shiver skittering through me.
"You can begin by removing your clothes," I said. "If you would like to. To clarify, this is a suggestion, not a demand."
"Oh, Em," he said, laughing softly against my neck. I had my hands in his hair, which was now quite mussed, something that made me absurdly happy.
"I'm sorry," I said, self-conscious now. "Perhaps I shouldn't talk."
"Whoever not?" He drew back, examining me with a perplexed smile. "I like the way you talk. And everything else about you, in fact. Is that not clear by now?"
I felt laughter bubble up inside me, but I hid it behind a mock-serious impression. "I'm not sure."
His smile changed, and he trailed his hand down the side of my neck. "Let me show you.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“Hey!" she says. "Sorry I'm late."
I look at my watch. "It's nine-forty-five. We said nine."
Her cheeks turn pink. "I know. I'm sorry. I overslept."
"With the muscular Asian dude?"
The pink in her cheeks deepens to a dark red. "His name is Jackson."
"Ah, yes, another suitor you can pump and dump."
"Hey!" Her indignation yields to her usual feistiness. "Listen to you- 'pump and dump.' You do realize that's a stock-trading expression. It has nothing to do with dating."
"It does now.”
― Dana Bate, The Girls' Guide to Love and Supper Clubs

“Where did all the condensed milk go?”
― rolodexter