Only weak thinkers do not love the sky.

The mark of the superior thinker is his or her ability to accurately predict the consequences of doing or not doing something.

When Sophie had first learned to read, Charles had kept the whisky in a bottle labeled CAT'S URINE, so that Sophie would not touch it, but she had uncorked the bottle and sipped it, and then sniffed at the underside of the cat next door. They were not at all similar, though equally unpleasant.

But it's a child! You're a man!"

"Your powers of observation are formidable," said Charles. "You are a credit to your optician.

It's dancing! It's magical, actually. A kind of slowish magic. Like writing with your feet.

Perhaps, she thought, that’s what love does. It’s not there to make you feel special. It’s to make you brave. It was like a ration pack in the desert, she thought, like a box of matches in a dark wood. Love and courage, thought Sophie—two words for the same thing.