“If I was a junkman selling you cars,
Washing your windows and shining your stars,
Thinking your mind was my own in a dream
What would you wonder and how would it seem?
Living in castles a bit at a time
The King started laughing and talking in rhyme.
Singing words, words between the lines of age.
Words, words between the lines of age.”

“With no words, with no song
You can dance the dream with your body on
And this curve, is your smile
And this cross, is your heart
And this line, is your path
Oh it's gonna be the way you always thought it would be
But it's gonna be no illusion
Oh it's gonna be the way you always dreamt about it
But it's gonna be really happening to ya…”

“You are talking crazy-person talk. Put your words in word places please.”

“Your questions refer to words; so I have to talk about words.
You say: The point isn't the word, but its meaning, and you think of the meaning as a thing of the same kind as the word, though also different from the word. Here the word, there the meaning.”

“I love words very much. I've always loved to talk, and I've always love words — the words that rest in your mouth, what words mean and how you taste them and so on. And for me the spoken word can be used almost as a gesture.”

“You cannot poison what is between us with your foul words. She is my light in the darkness and Johnny is my pathway ahead.”

“Are you, monsieur, a man of your word?"
"It really depends upon the word," Magnus said. "There are so many wonderful words…”

“Your hand is a warm stone I hold between two words.”

“Writers don't own their words. Since when do words belong to anybody? 'Your very own words,' indeed! And who are you?”

“I have your word?”
“You trust my word?”
“You’re an idealistic fool. Of course.”