All Rights Reserved

Words matter. Words make ideas. They preserve truths and history. They express freedom and they shape it. Words mold our thoughts. That gives them value and power.

Every book warns us at the beginning: All Rights Reserved. But I don’t believe it. Every right will not be reserved. Our rights will not be reserved. We will be free.

Silence is the only privacy.

Sometimes it was nice to think words clearly in my head, even if I could not say them.

My mother would go wild during the outages, hugging us without the $2.99 fee, kissing our heads and saying "I love you," a hundred times. It was like an animal attack, but a loving one.

She made the sign of the zippered lips, more to herself than to me, then let her hands fall in her lap. "It feels weird that you don't ask anything. Don't you feel trapped by not having any questions? It would make me very claustrophobic." That was an interesting way for her to put it, and not very different from the airless feeling I got when I thought of all the things I wished I could say.

She took a bite and frowned. “Blissberry. Their worst flavor. Never trust a product named for a fruit that doesn’t exist.

Every word is Trademarked™, Restricted® or Copyrighted©. The companies and people who own these rights let people use them, but once you turn fifteen, you have to pay.

What I needed to think about was succeeding—not what would happen if I failed.

You can't possibly have a reasonable expectation of privacy at your income level.

How would I get used to measuring the cost of my words.