Not that eighteen is a bad age to be . . .
Puck: If you now beheld them, your affections would become tender.
Prospero: Dost thou think so, spirit?
Puck: Mine would, sir, were I human.
Integra: Don’t get sentimental on me, Alucard. And stop growing.
Alucard: Integra, look at yourself!
Integra: …Oh smeg. I’m eighteen.