“Spelling a person's name is the first step toward killing him. It takes him apart and empties him of meaning. This is why God is afraid to have his name spelled.”

“His life spells living. Your life or my life, apart from Him, spells death.”

“If it please you, the lady's name again?" says Reginald. His quill is poised. If God had come to Reginald and not to Moses in the burning bush, he would have asked him how to spell the great I AM so he'd be sure he had it right.”

“His name is Arnold. But you’re not on a first name basis with him, and that’s not his first name. So that’s Mr. Arnold to you. Once you get to know him, he may let you call him by his first name, which is Grafmiller. His middle name is his wife’s maiden name: Maiden. Their maid’s first name is Maiden, and her last name is America. Maiden America, though I think she was made in China.”

“Don't drink too much.""When I can spell out your name in shot glasses, I'll stop.""I'll have to get a shorter name.""I'll have to forget how to spell it.”

“Most days what I felt was this: the minute you put a first name and a last name together, you've got a pair of tusks coming right at you (i.e., Watch out, buddy). but on days when I didn't disapprove of everything on principle--days when the whole cologned, cuff-shooting ruck of my co-workers didn't repulse me from the moment they disembarked from the sixth-floor elevator and began squidging their way along the carpeted track that led to the office--my thinking stabbed more along these lines: a name belittles that which is named. Give a person a name and he'll sink right into it, right into the hollows and the dips of the letters that spelled out the whole insultingly reductive contraption, so that you have to pull him up and dance him out of it, take his attendance, and fuck some life into him if you expect to get any work out of him. Multiply him by twenty-two and you will have some idea of what the office was like, except that a good third of my colleagues were female.”