“You know what they say: When people start burning books they'll soon burn human beings.”

“A longing for books [is] nothing compared with what you [can] feel for human beings. The books [tell] you about that feeling. The books [speak] of love, and it [is] wonderful to listen to them, but they [are] no substitute for love itself.”

“Because by now Elinor had understood this, too: A longing for books was nothing compared with what you could feel for human beings. The books told you about that feeling. The books spoke of love, and it was wonderful to listen to them, but they were no substitute for love itself. They couldn't kiss her like Meggie, they couldn't hug her like Resa, they couldn't laugh like Mortimer. Poor books, poor Elinor.”

“You know, it's a funny thing about writers. Most people don't stop to think of books being written by people much like themselves. They think that writers are all dead long ago--they don't expect to meet them in the street or out shopping. They know their stories but not their names, and certainly not their faces. And most writers like it that way.”

“What on earth have you packed in here? Bricks?" asked Mo as he carried Meggie's book-box out of the house.You're the one who says books have to be heavy because the whole world's inside them," said Meggie.”

“Sometimes, when you're so sad you don't know what to do, it helps to be angry.”

“I hope you drop dead!” She screamed as Basta hauled her out of the room. “I hope you burn to death! I hope you suffocate in your own smoke!” Basta laughed as he closed the door. “Just listen to this little wildcat!” He said. “I think I’ll have to watch my step with you around!”