“My words were Egyptian hieroglyphics before the discovery of the Rosetta stone; my words were wounded soldiers limping home, guns spent, from a lost battle; my words were dying fish, flipping hysterically as the net is opened and the pile spreads across the boat deck like a slippery mountain trying to become a prairie.My words were, and are, unworthy of Marianne Engel.”

“They were a mother's words, words I would say to my own daughter if I were concerned for her”

“And I knew it was true, that my words were made of stones, that they would last and I would climb them.”

“Long human words (the longer the better) were easy, unmistakable, and rarely changed their meanings . . . but short words were slippery, unpredictable, changing their meanings without any pattern.”

“Yet they spoke now across a glass-topped dining table as if words were just words, as if their histories were equivalent.”

“And here, over the portals of my fort, I shall cut in the stone the word which is to be my beacon and my banner. The word which will not die should we all perish in battle. The word which can never die on this earth, for it is the heart of it and the meaning and the glory.The sacred word:EGO”