There are no medicines to bring a dead thing back to life.

You're afraid of your own anger.

Things don't ever stay the same. Natural beginnings come to natural or unnatural ends.

I don't understand your book. Isn't every book a book of words?

...you could not measure love on a scale of degrees, and now she understood that it was the same with pain. Pain might escalate upward and, just when you thought you'd reach your limit, begin to spread sideways, and spill out, and touch other people, and mix with their pain. And grow larger, but somehow less oppressive. She had thought herself trapped in a place outside the ordinary feeling lives of people; she had not noticed how many other people were trapped in that place with her.

I’m suspicious of the notion of a single book that would benefit everyone to read.

Everyone wants a bit of something beautiful." Clara said. "Among the wealthy it's the rare skins and furs sold on the black market. With everyone else it's whatever they find clogging the gutters or killed in the housetraps. It al amounts to the same thing, of course, but the rich people feel better knowing they've paid a fortune.