"I mumble hocus-pocus and the next thing you know, I’m a cat. (Ravyn) I suppose it’s a step up. The last guy I had in my house could only turn into a beer-drinking pig. (Susan)"

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These Germans seem an odd race, a mixture of clay and spirit - what with their beer-drinking and smoking, and their slow, stolid ways, you would think them perfectly earth; but ethereal fire is all the while working in them, and bursing out in most unexpected jets of poetry and sentiment, like blossoms on a cactus.

— Harriet Beecher Stowe