From "Star Trek: Requiem for Methuselah (#3.19)"
I have married a hundred times, Captain. Selected, loved, cherished, caressed a smoothness, inhaled a brief fragrance. Then age, death, the taste of dust. Do you understand?
You wanted a perfect, ultimate woman, as brilliant, as immortal as yourself. Your mate for all time.
Designed by my heart. I could not love her more.