“As readers, we remain in the nursery stage so long as we cannot distinguish between taste and judgment, so long, that is, as the only possible verdicts we can pass on a book are two: this I like; this I don't like.For an adult reader, the possible verdicts are five: I can see this is good and I like it; I can see this is good but I don't like it; I can see this is good and, though at present I don't like it, I believe that with perseverance I shall come to like it; I can see that this is trash but I like it; I can see that this is trash and I don't like it.”

“I can see it, hear it, feel it, taste it - but I can never be on the inside of it with you. I cannot even be sure whether I really know what it is like. Is it 'like' my own? Or incomparable? Just as I can never know if what you see at any given moment is exactly the same as what I see. We look at a colour. We both call it red. But it is only because we have been taught to call it by that name. There is no guarantee - not ever - that we see it in the same way, that your red is my red.”

“I don't feel like I can change the world. I don't even try. I only want to change this small life that I see standing in front of me, which is suffering.”

“One can,' said Ernest 'remain unmoved before a cloud as before an automatic ticket machine. I don't like poetry, I don't like flowers, I don't like machines, I don't like sugar, I don't like pepper, I don't like what you like.' This was addressed to whoever attacked Ernest.”

“So damn jealous! Like I can see anyone but you.”

“So there we were. Once upon a time, during the storybook version of dating we'd gone through, I'd pretended that it was possible to love her when I only mildly liked her. Now I had no desire to pretend we'd ever be in love, and I liked her madly. 'Can we try to be wise with each other for a very long time?' I asked her.She laughed. 'You mean, can we share our fuckups and see if we can get any wisdom out of them?''Yeah,' I said. 'That would be nice.”