“So who do you think would win in a fight, Max? Us or the rest of the world?”

“I can do it, Max. I still have my thoughts. I just can't say them out loud. I still have my friends. I just can't show them. I still have all the things that used to matter. They're inside of me. They can't take that away.”

“Living with hope is like rubbing up against a cheese grater. It keeps taking slices off you until there's so little left you just crumble.”

“...it saddens me that she has to grow up and make friends with humans. I hear the future coming for her. Stomp, stomp, stomp.”

“Your countenance perfectly informs me that you were in company last night with the person, whom you think the most agreeable in the world, the person who interests you at this present time, more than all the rest of the world put together.”

“I mean who the hell do you think you are, exactly? Saint Roland of the Perpetual Martyrdom?”

“Only because books are better than people, Father. ... Because they are masters who instruct without a rod. If you approach them, they are never asleep; if you are ignorant, they never laugh; if you make mistakes, they never chide. They give to all who ask of them, and never demand payment. ... All the glory of the world would be buried in oblivion, if God hadn't provided us with the remedy of books.”