Recently added

"To fool a judge, feign fascination, but to bamboozle the whole court, feign boredom."

Yay, Old Uns’ Smart mastered sicks, miles, seeds an' made miracles ord’nary, but it din’t master one thing, nay, a hunger in the hearts o' humans, yay, a hunger for more.

They can extinguish awareness by dumbing down education, owning TV stations, paying "guest fees" to leader writers, or just buying the media up. The media—and not just The Washington Post—is where democracies conduct their civil wars.

"The better organized the state, the duller its humanity."

Travel far enough, you meet yourself.

But ain't dyin' terrorsome cold if there ain't nothin' after?

Yay—she sort o' laughed but not smilin', nay—our truth is terrorsome cold.

People knelt in prayer, some moving their lips. Envy 'em, really I do. I envy God, too, privy to their secrets. Faith, the least exclusive club on Earth, has the craftiest doorman. Every time I've stepped through its wide-open doorway, I find myself stepping out on the street.

Did I ever lie to get my story? Ten-mile-high whoppers every day before breakfast, if it got me one inch closer to the truth

As many truths as men. Occasionally, I glimpse a truer Truth, hiding in imperfect simulacrums of itself, but as I approach, it bestirs itself & moves deeper into the thorny swamp of dissent.

"Try this for deviancy: fabricants are mirrors held up to purebloods' consciences; what purebloods see reflected there sickens them. So they blame you for holding up the mirror."

I hid my shock by asking when purebloods might blame themselves.

Mephi replied, "History suggests, not until they are made to."

...the dizzying vividness of the images of places and people that the letters have unlocked. Images so vivid she can only call them memories.

Whoever opined "Money can't buy you happiness" obviously had far too much of the stuff.