Anders: Do you ever have any regrets?
Isabela: About what?
Anders: Anything? Everything? I can’t figure you out.
Isabela: The past’s past. I learned that young. If it can’t bring you gold or giggles, what’s the point in dwelling on it?
Anders: Maybe the chance to fix a mistake? Make things right again?
Isabela: Eh. Our mistakes make us who we are.
Anders: That was almost profound.
Aveline: How are you so successful with men? You’re not that pretty.
Isabela: Cast a wide enough net, and you’re bound to catch something.
Aveline: (Laughs) At least you’re willing to admit it.
Isabela: Trust me. I’ve heard, “Get away from me, you pirate hag!” more times than I care to count.
Aveline: Doesn’t that bother you?
Isabela: Why should it? They don’t know me. I know me.
Bethany: That book you were reading this morning, “Hessarian’s Spear”— I don’t think he had a spear in the legends.
Isabela: He does in this one. Read the description.
Bethany: “Andraste knelt before no man but her Maker, but she hadn’t counted on the archon Hessarian.”
Bethany: “Can Hessarian penetrate the tight-knit defenses of the warrior-prophetess? Will she be prepared to face the full blast of his… power?”
Bethany: Wait a minute… Isabela! This is a vulgar thing!
Isabela: You want to borrow it?
Isabela: You sure? It has pictures!
Bethany: Not listening! I’m not listening!
Isabela: I saw you at the Blooming Rose the other night.
Carver: What? No you didn’t.
Isabela: I suppose someone else stole your chin to romance Faith?
Carver: (Scoffs) That’s unlikely. She wasn’t even working.
Isabela: Mm-hmm. Got you.
Hawke: Carver, what would Mother say?
Carver: You’re just… that’s not what I… shit!
Fenris: So this relic you mentioned losing…
Isabela: You have pretty eyes.
Fenris: I… have pretty eyes.
Isabela: You elves have such pretty eyes, even the men. It makes me want to pluck them out and wear them as a necklace.
Fenris: I wouldn’t suggest trying.
Isabela: Oh, I would never try. Not without reason, of course.
Fenris: Forget I said anything.
Merrill: How do you do that?
Isabela: Do what, Kitten?
Merrill: You sort of… swagger when you walk. I’ve been trying, but I trip over my own feet when I do it.
Isabela: You just strut. It’s not something you practice.
Merrill: How do I learn it, then?
Isabela: It comes to you. Usually at night. It’s like a lover… or maybe a burglar.
Isabela: Either it ravishes you or runs off with all your jewelry. And you have to run it down and stab it in the heart.
Isabela: And… that metaphor got a bit away from me, didn’t it?
Merrill: I think it did, but it was certainly exciting!
Isabela: Come to me, and I’ll take you to places you’ve never been…
Varric: Isabela… Are you talking to Bianca?
Isabela: I think she deserves to feel a woman’s touch on her trigger, don’t you?
Varric: Bianca responds to my touch. She’d never give it up for you.
Isabela: That’s what they always say, and I always prove them wrong.
Varric: Stop it. You’re confusing her. And me.
Isabela: So, I’ve never understood why the Chantry says if you’re good, you’ll be taken up to the Maker’s side.
Sebastian: Those who die with the sins cleansed from their souls will walk beside the Maker in eternity.
Isabela: That doesn’t sound fun!
Isabela: If they really want people to be good, shouldn’t they offer an afterlife with… lakes of wine and a dozen naked virgins?
Sebastian: Anyone who wants that will be going to the Void.
Isabela: Sounds like that’s where all the good parties will be.
(During the battle with Corypheus)
Isabela: Get his armor off!
Hawke: Really, Isabela?
Isabela: I don’t mean that! Stun him, paralyze him!
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