« Rapidement, elle évoqua la beauté de Râma, sa bravoure au combat, la puissance de ses flèches infaillibles, pour s'attarder complaisamment avec une rouerie toute féminine sur les grâces incomparables de son épouse Sîta, vantant l'éclat de son teint d'or fin, de ses cheveux luxuriants, de ses longs yeux [...] » (page 144)

Il avait bien deux jambes, deux bras, dix doigts, une mignonne petite tête et une bruyante envie de téter, mais il était tout petit... Tout tout petit... A peine trois centimètre.

Épisode #26
- C'est quoi, ces retrouvailles de merde?!
En plus, il a complètement changé
Il est plus du tout mignon! Avant, il était attentionné et délicat et bien plus compréhensif!

- Il a tant changé que ça?

- Oui! Complètement! Il a le regard froid...
C'est plus du tout le Tomoyo que je connaissais...

Non, c'est faux... Il a toujours était froid envers ceux qu'il détestait. C'est juste que maintenant, je rentre dans cette catégorie. Je le savais pourtant... Mais ça me fait quand même un sacré choc.

- En plus, j'ai cassé mon ukulélé...

*Elle pleure*

- C'est pas grave! Allez bois!! En hommage à ton ukulélé!
Plus d'alcool, gros Tarô!

4ème lien: Un amour déçu
[...]
-Tu sais n'importe qui peut appuyer sur le déclencheur d'un appareil photo. Mais une des choses les plus importantes, c'est ce que l'on ressens de la scène ou du sujet que l'on photographie.
Je voudrais voir de mes yeux ce qu'est le monde. Les terres, les cieux, les atmosphères. La vie des gens de tout horizon. Leurs expressions, leurs émotions. Tout ce qui nait de cette planète...
Je voudrai tout voir!
Je déclencherai l'obturateur après avoir laissé le flot de mes sentiments jaillir du plus profond de moi. La joie, la colère, la solitude, la tristesse... Je les libérerai dans le viseur de mon appareil.
Les photos que je prendrai alors projetteront ainsi mon propre vécu... Et je ressentirai enfin à ce moment-là ce que je suis vraiment.

1er lien: Ne pleure pas Himari

-Himari! Je t'aime plus que tout.
S'il te plait, sors avec moi!
-Hiro...
Je te signale... Qu'on est en pleine séance de balayage...

Extrait en anglais:
The only thing that was missing was my laptop, and it only took a couple of minutes for my
sense of humour to vanish with it. An empty space stared back at me from the middle of the
desk. I was confused for a second. Had I left it at home? Was it still in the car? Had I left it
somewhere else? The last twelve hours flashed through my mind. I had worked until eight-
thirty the previous day, here, at my desk, on a presentation for an insurance company:
strategic analysis of target groups, products and returns. It had to be finished by Wednesday,
because I was off for a week starting Thursday. Research, interviews, figures, interpretation and theoretical foundations. I had been working on it for seven weeks solid. I took my laptop
everywhere, the car, the train, the plane. Home was the only exception; otherwise I would
never stop working. I closed the door behind me here just after eight-thirty yesterday evening,
square-eyed from looking at the computer screen, and my head in a spin from the premiums,
costs, disbursements and prognoses.
My business partner Gijs and I had been working the entire weekend and had grabbed
a bite to eat late on Sunday evening. Indonesian, set menu, at a restaurant in the Vijzelstraat
round the corner from his apartment. The spicy variant, Padang, was just hot enough to burn
away the mugginess of an entire day at the office. After that we downed a couple of beers
upstairs at De Kroon on the Rembrandtplein to put out the flames. I was on my bicycle
heading for home by midnight, and if there’s one thing I’m sure of it was the absence of my
laptop. I was without it the entire evening, in the restaurant, in the café, at home, where I had
crawled into bed and fallen asleep almost immediately, laptop free.
I looked at my desk and cursed.
‘Where is my computer?!’ I yelled. The place was empty and silent. I was the first to
arrive that morning.
It drove me crazy when people messed about with my stuff. It was my office, my
room, my desk. I was the boss here, me and Gijs. It might be a small office – two assistants
and a secretary – but that didn’t make me any less the boss. I stared at the empty space on my
desk. Who had taken my computer? Who would have had anything to gain from it? Gijs and I
were the last to leave the office yesterday. There were still people in the building, I was sure
of that. We sublet from The Pattern, a software firm full of supernerds who often worked late
into the night. But what would one of them want with my computer? It was a simple laptop, a
couple of years old. It didn’t even have much in terms of memory; it was a clone with a
clattering keyboard. I was attached to it, incidentally, to that clunky noise it made as I typed.
All my work was saved in its memory, all my reports, letters, invoices, hourly records,
memos, emails, photos, notes, inventories, you name it. My laptop was the archive of my life,
and when I arrived at the office in the morning I expected it all to be there waiting for me,
undisturbed, as I had left it.
I had backups, of course. I had copied all my recent work and the jobs I was currently
working on onto a memory stick. It was in my rucksack. A copy of the entire content of my
hard drive was on the server used by The Pattern, which kept backups of everything we did,
all the programmes we used and all the related configurations. I only had to plug in a new
laptop and download everything from the server. A couple of hours extra work at most. Those
nerds at The Pattern devoured computers. They would surely have a spare PC or laptop;
faster, better, less clatter. That’s what made it so unlikely that one of their programmers had
nicked or borrowed my laptop.