Children of the Mind (Ender's Saga, #4)

by Orson Scott Card

I would rather be mocked for doing a good thing than to be respected, knowing I have done wrong.

And so she wrote, and wept; and when the weeping was done, the writing went on. When the hair that he had left behind was sealed in a small box and buried in the grass near Human’s root, she would stand and speak. Her voice would raise him from the dead, make him live again in memory. And she would also be merciful; and she would also be just. That much, at least, she had learned from him.

It was a new thing in the world, to have someone to talk to who was not substantially yourself.