“Cycling, cycling forever bear, wolf, caribou.When had it all started, where will it end?We are all part of one, from such simple beginnings and yet all so different.Yet one.One and again.”

“Every pellet has a story all its own. Every pellet has a story all its own. With its fur and teeth and bonesAnd one or two stones, Every pellet has a story all its own. We shall dissect every pellet with glee. Perhaps we'll find a rodents knee. And never shall we tire In the sacred task that we conspire, No do our work less perfectly And those bright flecks at the core, Which makes our hearts soar, Shall forever remain the deepest mystery.- The owlets in the Pelletorium at St. Aegolius”

“It dawned on her in that moment that what she had loved so much when she heard the harp’s music and then began to play in the midst of the storm was this sense or suggestion of a place, a world without such rules. A place where boundaries simply did not exist, but living things moved freely, in a limitless space, and yet were still connected to everything in much the same way the harp’s music enveloped all the people in the music room last night. Page: 159 - 160”

“No one really does know how to have fun here at all. It is all etiquette.”

“Give me a hot coal glowing bright red, Give me an ember sizzling with heat, These are the jewels made from my beak. We fly between the flames and never get singed We plunge through the smoke and never cringe. The secrets of fire, its strange winds, its rages, We know it all as it rampages Through forests, through canyons, Up hillsides and down. We track it. We'll find it. Take coals by the pound. We'll yarp in the heart of the hottest flame Then bring back its coals an make them tame. For we are the colliers brave and beyond all We are the owls of the colliering chaw!”

“For Twilight, it was like the echo of a song- a song from long ago. He could almost remember some of the words, but had no clue as to where they had come from. There had been a wonderful voice singing it, singing this song just for him. A voice like silk? Satin? Like liquid moonlight, it flowed, it curled around him and suffused him with a glowing warmth.”

“We are the owls of the weather chaw. We take it blistering, We take it all. Roiling boiling gusts, We're the owls with the guts. For blizzards our gizzards Dr tremble with joy. An ice storm, a gale, how we love blinding hail. We fly forward and backward, Upside down and flat. Do we flinch? Do we wail? Do we skitter or scutter? No, we yarp one more pellet And fly straight for the gutter! Do we screech? Do we scream? Do we gurgle? Take pause? Not on your life! For we are the best Of the best of the chaws!”