“It was so good to be held. If only their relationship could be distilled into simple, wordless gestures of comfort. Why had humans ever learned to talk?”

“She thought about how it was so simple with animals. They gave their hearts without question or fear. They had no expectations. They were so easy to love. If people could only be like that, no one would ever be hurt, she thought. No one would ever need to learn how to forgive.”

“I never knew why or how writing could be so important until I learned about the no-talking rule and found that writing was the only way I could talk whenever I wanted. Writing always came to the rescue when I had to keep silent, and thereby became one of the greatest and most divine comforts I knew. What I couldn't say out loud I could always say in a note, letter, or journal first. And whenever I felt totally speechless, writing always allowed me to find the necessary words.”

“It had that comfortably sprung, lived-in look that library books with a lively circulation always get; bent page corners, a dab of mustard on page 331, a whiff of some reader's spilled after-dinner whiskey on page 468. Only library books speak with such wordless eloquence of the power good stories hold over us, how good stories abide, unchanged and mutely wise, while we poor humans grow older and slower.”

“To be young is to be powerless, but to have delusions of power. To believe that one can really change things, make the world better and simpler in good and simple ways. To grow old is to realize that nobody is ever good, nothing is ever simple. That truth is cruel at first, but finally comforting.”

“If the human brain were so simple that we could understand it, we would be so simple that we couldn’t.”