“He could not play the game without hope; could not play the game without a dream. They had taken it all away from him now, they had turned away from him and there was nothing for him now...He was alone and there was nothing for him.”

“He had to keep thinking of them because if he forgot them and did not think of them they might forget about him. And he had to keep hoping.”

“When he sat alone in the darkness and cried and was done, all done with it, nothing had changed. His leg still hurt, it was still dark, he was still alone and the self-pity had accomplished nothing.”

“And the last thought he had that morning as he closed his eyes was: I hope the tornado hit the moose.”

“This is going to be murder," Fransic whispered to Mr. Trimes. "Pure murder.""I'm glad to see your confidence returning, Mr. Tucket. Just a few minutes ago you were ready to give up. Now you're talking about killing him.""I meant it the other way.""Oh.”

“Initially, he worried that he might be going crazy. But then he decided if you felt you were crazy you weren't really crazy because he had heard somewhere that crazy people didn't know they were insane.”

“If books could have more, give more, be more, show more, they would still need readers who bring to them sound and smell and light and all the rest that can’t be in books. The book needs you.”