Jules: (sniveling, then theatrically looking up at the ceiling) Is this pseudo-poem or a pulpit sermon?

Ellesha: (creasing her brows and repressing a frown) Well, good poems have multiple dimensions. Why shouldn't literature have many layers and multiple meanings? Fine poems are like cathedrals vaulted with questions and stained with meanings.

Jules: (speaking slowly, carefully) Philosophy too frequently clouds poetry. Why can't this writer just describe an oyster without didactic preaching? Let living creatures breathe without the iron lungs of philosophy.

Ellesha: (looking directly at Jules intently while tensing her collarbones) You have such critical eyes. What feeds your skepticism? Are you fond of intellectual scalpels?

Jules: (waving dismissively) Au contraire! Most hearts are barnacled with sophomoric praise. They’re caught in a state of—what shall I call it?—conditioned helplessness. It's a mediocre state of existence, breeding only ennui and obedience.

Andrei: (chuckling) Isn’t that precisely those in power want? That is what the throne-keepers pray for!