“The books were oldand well worn, the cover of one of them had nearly broken through in itsmiddle, and it was held together with a few threads. "Everything is sodirty here," said K., shaking his head, and before he could pick thebooks up the woman wiped some of the dust off with her apron. K. tookhold of the book that lay on top and threw it open, an indecent pictureappeared. A man and a woman sat naked on a sofa, the base intent ofwhoever drew it was easy to see but he had been so grossly lacking inskill that all that anyone could really make out were the man and thewoman who dominated the picture with their bodies, sitting in overlyupright postures that created a false perspective and made it difficultfor them to approach each other. K. didn't thumb through that book anymore, but just threw open the next one at its title page, it was a novelwith the title, What Grete Suffered from her Husband, Hans. "So this isthe sort of law book they study here," said K., "this is the sort ofperson sitting in judgement over me.”

“I opened the book to the title page, which said the book was "A Fictional Memoir." I had no idea what this meant, except that maybe it was one of the ways that Exley was crazy: maybe when he called his book a fictional memoir, it meant that he couldn't make up his mind, which is one of the things people really mean when they call someone crazy.”

“But I cannot find my way in this darkness," said K. "Turn left to the wall," said the priest, "then follow the wall without leaving it and you'll come to a door." The priest had already taken a step or two away from him, but K. cried out in a loud voice, "please wait a moment." "I am waiting," said the priest. "Don't you want anything more form me?" asked K. "No," said the priest. "You were so friendly to me for a time," said K., "and explained so much to me, and now you let me go as if you cared nothing about me." "But you have to leave now," said the priest. "Well, yes," said K., "you must see that I can't help it." "You must first see who I am," said the priest. "You are the prison chaplain," said K., groping his way nearer to the priest again; his immediate return to the Bank was not so necessary as he had made out, he could quite stay longer. "That means I belong to the Court," said the priest. "So why should I want anything from you? The court wants nothing from you. It receives you when you came and it dismisses you when you go.”

“She threw the door open. The room seemed to be a sort of library, the walls lined with books. It was brightly lit, light streaming through a tall picture window. In the middle of the room stood Jace. He wasn't alone, though-not by a long shot. There was a dark-haired girl with him, a girl Clary had never seen before, and the two of them were locked together in a passionate embrace”

“...in one of his Irish Times columns written under the name of Myles na gCopaleen, [Flann] O’Brien offered a service to readers who owned books but did not open them. For a fee, books would be handled, with passages underlined or spines damaged or words such as ‘Rubbish’ or ‘Yes, but cf Homer, Od. iii, 151’ or ‘I remember poor Joyce saying the same thing to me’ written in the margins. Or inscriptions on the title page such as ‘From your devoted friend and follower, K. Marx.’"--"Flann O'Brien's Lies," Colm Tóibin, London Review of Books, Jan. 5, 2012”

“Listen, now, you're going to die, Ray-mond K. K. K. Hessel, tonight. You might die in one second or in one hour, you decide. So lie to me. Tell me the first thing off the top of your head. Make something up. I don't give a shit. I have a gun.Finally, you were listening and coming out of the little tragedy in your head.Fill in the blank. What does Raymond Hessel want to be when he grows up?Go home, you said you just wanted to go home, please.No shit, I said. But after that, how did you want to spend your life? If you could do anything in the world.Make something up.You didn't know.Then you're dead right now, I said. I said, now turn your head.Death to commence in ten, in nine, in eight.A vet, you said. You want to be a vet, a veterinarian.You could be in school working your ass off, Raymond Hessel, or you could be dead. You choose. I stuffed your wallet into the back of your jeans. So you really wanted to be an animal doctor. I took the saltwater muzzle of the gun off one cheek and pressed it against another. Is that what you've always wanted to be, Dr. Raymond K. K. K. K. Hessel, a veterinarian?...So, I said, go back to school. If you wake up tomorrow morning, you find a way to get back into school.I have your license.I know who you are. I know where you live. I'm keeping your license, and I'm going to check on you, mister Raymond K. Hessel. In three months, and then six months, and then a year, and if you aren't back in school on your way to being a veterinarian, you will be dead...Raymond K. K. Hessel, your dinner is going to taste better than any meal you've ever eaten, and tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of your life.”