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.

Alucard: Master…

Integra: Don’t get sentimental on me, Alucard. And stop growing.

Alucard: Integra, look at yourself!

Integra: …Oh smeg. I’m eighteen.