“What was an infant's view of air travel? You go to a special place, walk into a large room with seats in it, and sit down. The room rumbles and shakes for four hours. Then you get up and walk off. Magically, you're somewhere else. The means of transportation seems obscure to you, but the basic idea is easy to grasp, and precocious mastery of the Navier-Stokes equations is not required.”

“What’s this ”“A needle.”“What should I do with it ” He’d walked right into it. Too easy. “Please use it to pop your head. It’s obscuring my view of the room.”

“When you're writing a book, it's rather like going on a very long walk, across valleys and mountains and things, and you get the first view of what you see and you write it down. Then you walk a bit further, maybe up onto the top of a hill, and you see something else. Then you write that and you go on like that, day after day, getting different views of the same landscape really. The highest mountain on the walk is obviously the end of the book, because it's got to be the best view of all, when everything comes together and you can look back and see that everything you've done all ties up. But it's a very, very long, slow process.”

“When you walk into a room,” he said softly, “the air changes.”

“I walk down the hallway and go into my room and call it a day and it calls me something else.”

“I flexed my wrist, popped a silver needle into my palm, and offered it to him.'What's this?''A needle.''What should I do with it?'He'd walked right into it. Too easy. 'Please use it to pop your head. It's obscuring my view of the room.'- Kate & Saiman”