Do not cry, ” she said fiercely, but her own tears flowed. “Do not cry, Finnikin. For if we begin, our tears will never end.

Somehow, even in the worst of times, the tiniest fragments of good survive. It was the grip in which one held those fragments that counted.

It’s against the rules of humanity to believe there is nothing we can do.

Then I choose to drown. In hope. Rather than float into nothing.

How unladylike of you to mention such a thing.

Because without our language, we have lost ourselves. Who are we without our words?

If there was one weapon he had against these savages, it was not acknowledging their existence.

But then Froi looked back to where his work lay unfinished and it made him sad because there had been something about the touch of earth in his hands that made him feel worthwhile.

One of Sir Topher's rules was to never indulge in sentimentality, never return for what was left behind.

It's against the rules of humanity to believe there is nothing we can do.

People divulge things to you that they would not divulge to anyone else.

What novels did you read when you were young, dear? I'm convinced it all turns on that.

He wondered if there was anyone in the world who liked him. Liked him for himself alone.

I've always had lots of friends and my house was the house they all hung out at.

I'm drawn to the magical efficacies of language as a political act.

It is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy will always, with the generality of mankind, have preference above the accurate.

You have to elevate yourself to that point and bring your mind into the Godhead, into nirvana, into that perfect and pure radiant knowledge. It will not come to you. It never does.

Without some goals and some efforts to reach it, no man can live.

I was once asked if I had any ideas for a really scary reality TV show. I have one reality show that would really make your hair stand on end: "C-Students from Yale".

I am tired of the litany of months, September October I am tired of the way the seasons keep changing, mimicking the seasons of the flesh which are real and finite.

The longest-lived and the shortest-lived man, when they come to die, lose one and the same thing.