“Now, Sophia, would you care to tell me why you're here by the pond instead of reporting to your next class?''I'm experiencing some teenage angst, Mrs. Casnoff,' I answered. 'I need to, like, write in my journal or something.”

“My brain was spinning. Demons, missing students...Why had my life suddenly become a Nancy Drew mystery from hell?"Okay, but that would mean..." I could hardly say the next words. They seemed unbelievable to me. "That would mean Mrs. Casnoff is in on it, and if that is the case,my dad would know something about it.""Not necessarily," Archer said. "Hecate Hall and Graymalkin Island are completely Mrs. Casnoff's domain. Your dad signs off on all the kids who're sentenced here, but past that, he leaves it all to her."Way to be screwed over by delegating, Dad.”

“These questions are difficult. The answers are not obvious, and so there should be some pausing, some angst, some honest uncertainty as people struggle to decide the best course of action. But I see none of this in the press releases and reports I read. Instead I see both sides telling us that to be uncertain, to dialogue instead of rail, is to betray the cause.”

“Anyway, back to the crush. Sorry to shift gears so fast, but we both know why we're here. I mean, if I wanted to discuss the existential angst of motherhood I'd be writing in a journal. Diaries are for the down and dirty, the stuff you don't want people to ever find out about you. Journals are the things you leave open around the house, hoping a literary agent will wander in, read it and declare you the next genius of your age.”

“My language limitations here are real. My vocabulary is adequate for writing notes and keeping journals but absolutely useless for an active moral life. If I really knew this language, there would surely be in my head, as there is in Webster's or the Dictionary of American Slang, that unreducible verb designed to tell a person like me what to do next.”

“I am not trying to seduce you."I know that. But please, Mrs. Robinson. This is difficult for me.""Why is it," she said"Because I am confused about things. I can't tell what I'm imagining. I can't tell what's real. I can't --""Would you like me to seduce you?""What?""Is that what you're trying to tell me?”