Instead I will say, "Take me to your trees. Take me to your breakfasts, your sunsets, your bad dreams, your shoes, your nouns. Take me to your fingers; take me to your deaths." These are worth it. These are what I have come for.

If you disagree with your government, that's political. If you disagree with your government that is approaching theocracy, then you're evil.

You can forget who you are if you're alone too much.

And consider: it is loss to which everything flows, absence in which everything flowers

Kill what you can't save what you can't eat throw out what you can't throw out bury What you can't bury give away what you can't give away you must carry with you, it is always heavier than you thought.

So Crake never remembered his dreams. It's Snowman that remembers them instead. Worse than remembers: he's immersed in them, he'd wading through them, he's stuck in them. Every moment he's lived in the past few months was dreamed first by Crake. No wonder Crake screamed so much.

It is my contention that the process of reading is part of the process of writing, the necessary completion without which writing can hardly be said to exist.