“How do I know anything? How is it that my arms stretched out in front of me are so pale? How to I even know that they should be brown like riverbank mud, as they were when I was many goddesses with many worshippers, ruling in lands on the other side of a great, salty ocean? I used to be many, but now we are one, all squeezed together, many necks in one coffle. ”

“Progo,' Meg asked. 'You memorized the names of all the stars - how many are there?'How many? Great heavens, earthling. I haven't the faintest idea.'But you said your last assignment was to memorize the names of all of them.'I did. All the stars in all the galaxies. And that's a great many.'But how many?'What difference does it make? I know their names. I don't know how many there are. It's their names that matter.”

“The question is: will I get used to a menu with kilojoules instead of calories? I mean, I don’t think anyone even knows how many kilojoules are in a calorie. I had to break out a whiteboard this morning and do calculus just to figure out how many calories were in a glass of water Down Under.”

“How many times have I failed before? How many times have I stood here like this, in front of my own image, in front of my own person, trying to convince him not to be scared, to go on, to get out of this rut? How many times before I finally convince myself, how many private, erasable deaths will I need to die, how may self-murders is it going to take, how many times will I have to destroy myself before I learn, before I understand?”

“I wanted my own words. But the ones I use have been dragged through I don't know how many consciences.”

“It should not matter, but it does. I want to know how many hours of the night are gone and how many remain and that there is no good reason for my wanting to know does not stop the wanting.”