“She tugged on his hair. "I'll have you know I'm no weakling." He grinned and kissed her forehead. "No, it takes a strong woman to kill a truck.”

“If ye wear underwear, it's a skirt. If ye dinna, it's a kilt.”

“The little woman, wearing a pink and black zigzag-striped pantsuit over a black turtleneck, resembled a skinny zebra who'd OD'd on Pepto-Bismol.”

“Do ye always drool like that? Is it a family trait, lass?”

“Months ago, he'd told Effie, grandmother to his eldest brother's wife, that he was too busy to find a woman. He went on to brag he was quite happy being alone. That the only way he'd even consider a woman was if she dropped from the feckin' sky.He groaned and downed his first cup of coffee. Him and his big whisky loosened tongue.”

“A bear! I've landed on a wild and wicked bear!”

“Have ye ever known a female who wasna a bit of a witch in her own sweet way?”

“What the feckin' hell is PMS, I'd like to ken?""Petty Male Shit," she yelled.”

“Ye have taught me something I never understood.""What? How to get rid of Parisian Pink Pecker Disease?”

“I think...I shall call ye Beauty, for I shall be yer beast.”

“He was so damn hard, he could chip the ice from his truck's windshield with his rigid pecker.”