It was the hubris of each generation to think this anew, to think that their time was special, that all things would come to an end with them.

Even in the darkness, his smile threw shadows.

There are two competing philosophies in Wool: one is that people have to live under an iron thumb in order to survive, and the other one is that everyone should live completely freely and happily and everything will sort itself out.

One of the many things that surprised me about Wool is how many of its fans don't consider themselves science fiction readers.

He’d only ever seen a gun once, a smaller one on the hip of that old deputy, a gun he’d always figured was more for show. He stuffed a fistful of deadly rounds in his pocket, thinking how each one could end an individual life, and understanding why such things were forbidden. Killing a man should be harder than waving a length of pipe in their direction. It should take long enough for one’s conscience to get in the way.

It was a sad loss, this illusion of importance, a humbling blow.

We devolve into animals when we creep near to death.