“What does a boy who' witnessed what Charlie's witnessed know about trust? How does a boy like that discern right from wrong?”
“Not many boys like boys; but they like being a boy, showing it, being it together" (22)(rbt: where does this come from? this being a boy, which is also a doing -- this being wrapped in desire? who teaches it? how? when?)”
“And what have I done?" What? WHAT?...You've stolen them." With that, Cornelia fled, but Buttercup understood; she knew who "them" was. The boys. The beef-witted featherbrained rattledskulled clodpated dim-domed noodle-noggined sapheaded lunk-knobbed BOYS.”
“Anyway, what does "wrong" mean? Who decides what's wrong and what's right?”
“What does the corpse care who was right and who was wrong?”
“What's the point anyway — Of suffering, dying? It teaches us to live, boy. A man who does not struggle does not live, he survives.”