Andrei: (shaking his head) The guy iz twisted. No question about it.
Elijah: Or maybe yer twisted & he'z straight. Jes 'kuz someding 'z uncomfortable, doesn't mean it'z twisted.
Jules: I could fancy a few twists, moi-même. What kind of cheese did you say?
Andrei: Damn! You aren't listening.
Jules: Sorry. . . I prefer bleu cheese meself. And perhaps a bit of gruyère or comté now & then . . .

Damned as sunlight shimmered upon silver waters cascading on granite rocks i stood by a stream intoxicated by the whirl of rushing water gurgling past redwood logs . . . this is where salmon spawn each summer and deer quench their thirst at dawn this is where trout hunt for survival and bear snap their powerful claws. this is where fireflies dance in frenzy and where the next dam will be - so much of what we call progress is destruction to living things.

Ellesha: (playfully, in a soft voice) I don't think we have blue cheese in this poem.
Philyra: Yeah, it seems like a green cheddar.
Soo: De world's whole global economy is cheesy. An guess a-who gets de besta slicsa?