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

Acceptable rules of conduct were suspended when it came to the spoon shortage. The deficit had gotten so bad that prices were all but unaffordable, and dynastic spoon succession had become a matter of considerable interest. Spoons were even postcode engraved and carried on one's person to eliminate theft, and good table manners, one of the eight pillars upon which the Collective was built, had been relaxed to allow tea to be stirred - shockingly - with the handle of a fork.

Social mores change with time, like fashion - who knows where it might all end up? I especially like the idea that waste, impoliteness and overpopulation become "abominations," although I'm not sure recycling one's aunt will ever truly catch on.

Death, I had discovered long ago, was available in varying flavors, and none of them particularly palatable.

I would so hate to be a first-person character! Always on your guard, always having people read your thoughts!

If only life were that simple; if one could jump to the good parts and flick through the bad.

If you expect me to believe that a lawyer wrote A Midsummer Night's Dream, I must be dafter than I look.