“These words are not constructed of ink and paper. They are no formed of movement and sound. They are echoes of my soul. May they ripple outward and give strength to those who hear them.”

“…secondhand bookstores have pilgrims. The words out of print are a call to arms for those who seek a Holy Grail made of paper and ink.”

“Give me beauty in the inward soul; may the outward and the inward man be at one.”

“Individual words, sounds, squiggles on paper with no meanings other than those with which our imagination can clothe them.”

“I love you." Why it worked right then, why the webbing of my godmother's spell frayed as though the words had been an open flame, I don't know. I haven't found any explanation for it. There aren't any magical words, really. The words just hold the magic. They give it a shape and a form, they make it useful, describe the images within. I'll say this, though: Some words have a power that has nothing to do with supernatural forces. They resound in the heart and mind, they live long after the sounds of them have died away, they echo in the heart and the soul. They have power, and that power is very real. Those three words are good ones.”

“The philosopher seeks to hear within himself the echoes of the world of symphony and to re-project them in the form if concepts”