"You need to delay the train." "How do I do that?" "Your head on the rails?" "Seriously?" "I don't know. But put it this way: if you don't delay the … - Jasper Fforde

"It's highly disorderly," he explained, "not like here. There is no easily definable plot, and you can run yourself ragged wondering what the significance can be of a chance encounter. You'll also find that for the most part there is no shorthand to the narrative, so everything happens in a long and painfully drawn out sequence. Apparently the talk can be confusing—for the most part, people just say the first thing that comes into their heads."
"Is it as bad as they say it is?"
"I've heard it's worse. Here in the BookWorld, we say what needs to be said for the story to proceed. Out there? Well, you can discount at least eighty percent of chat as just meaningless drivel."
"I never thought the percentage was that high."
"In some individuals it can be as high as ninety-two percent. The people to listen to are the ones who don't say very much."

Winter isn’t a season – it’s a calling.

The dangerously high level of the stupidity surplus was once again the lead story in the The Owl that Morning. The reason for the crisis was clear: Prime Minister Redmond van de Poste and his ruling Commonsense Party had been discharging their duties with a reckless degree of responsibility that bordered on inspired sagacity. Instead of drifting from one crisis to the next and appeasing the nation with a steady stream of knee-jerk legislation and headline-grabbing but arguably pointless initiatives, they had been resolutely building a raft of considered long-term plans that concentrated on unity, fairness and tolerance. It was a state of affairs deplored by Mr. Alfredo Traficcone, leader of the opposition Prevailing Wind Party, who wanted to lead the nation back onto the safer grounds of uninformed stupidity.