I'm just doing your tea, Mum," he said.
"Are you all imbecilic? Is that a requirement of enlisted men? It's Lady GLINDA!" She was losing it, big time. "Get me Murth!

You need my help? What for? Bread, cash, a fake identity to help you slip sideways through the cracks? Tell me what you need, tell me why I should help, and I'll see what I can do. In memory of Elphaba. You knew her." Her head titled again, but up, this time, and it was to keep the sudden wetness from spilling into her carefully colored false eyelashes. "You knew my Elphie!

I think it's like when you lose something so close to you, it's like losing yourself.

You are unbelievably sexy.

I'm not a writer because I want to make money. I'm a writer because I'm a very slow thinker, but I do care about thinking, and the only way I know how to think with any kind of finesse is by telling stories.

I had really tried to do everything else but [revisit Oz]. Partly because I knew there would be some amongst us who would say, 'Oh, he's just trying to milk that cow.' . . . . But in the end, I had an idea I couldn't get rid of. I couldn't get it out of my room.