“You had a certain way of saying my name. It was the inflection maybe, something you put into those three syllables. And now you are gone and my name is just my name again, not the story of my life.”

“If my name were Mememem, and I had just ran into someone who should have known my name but couldn’t recall it, I’d probably say, “I can’t believe you don’t remememember my name.”

“...I will exile my thoughts if they think of you again, and I will rip my lips out if they say your name once more. Now if you do exist, I will tell you my final word in life or in death, I tell you goodbye.”

“My name is growing all the time, and I’ve lived a very long, long time; so my name is like a story. Real names tell you the story of the things they belong to in my language, in the Old Entish as you might say. It is a lovely language, but it takes a very long time to say anything in it, because we do not say anything in it, unless it is worth taking a long time to say, and to listen to.”

“It's strange. Hearing you say my name.""I can say it again if you'd like.""No, I'll remember just fine.”

“i've been to see him... he looks a lot like you... (who are you?) i'm what's left.. maybe i'm all that ever was... (i meant your name) my name is of no importance... what about you? do you remember your true name?... (my true name ... is....)”