By: Rose Lynn

QUEEN: Sensitivity , sensitivity, I'm just loaded with that! In this one word is the epitome of the aristocrat ! Sensitive soul and sensitive stomach, sensitive hands and feet… This is the blessing, also the curse, of being the true elite . Common people don't know what exquisite agony is, suffered by gentle people like me…

QUEEN: Sextimus! I won’t have you playing these foolish games and running around in the halls. It just isn’t dignified. We are the rulers of this kingdom, and if we don’t set a proper example for the rest of the court, I’d like to know who will. I mean what’s the point of being a ruler if one isn’t going to behave as a ruler should? The Royal Family

QUEEN: Do you mean to ask me to believe that you are a true princess of the royal blood? QUEEN: And am I to actually understand that you have the nerve, and the gall, and the presumption to apply for my son’s hand in marriage? QUEEN: Do you imagine for one moment that I would even consider you suitable for any son of mine? QUEEN: You are laboring under a very unfortunate misapprehension my dear. My son isn’t going to marry any moat swimmer!

QUEEN: And may I remind you, Sir Harry, that you are still one of my nights. Step forward.

QUEEN: Jester! Jester! Somebody stop him! Stop him, I said. Oh there he goes down that corridor. Bring him here to me! This is a fine kettle of fish. Now you wretch I want the truth. What’s all the noise about anyway? The moment I turn my back something outrageous is always going on in the corridors!

QUEEN: We must think of a test that looks fair, and sounds fair, and seems fair… and isn’t fair! QUEEN: After all you’re a Wizard. You should be able to think of something that’ll help that what’s-her-name to sleep. Don’t forget to whip up a sleeping potion and some of that good heavy incense. Oh, and that hypnotic mirror too!