“You killed my Dad." Any trace of kindness or sympathy vanished from Rixon's eyes. "Well this is awkward.”

“I'm touched, Rixon. A bomb. How elaborate. Why didn't you keep things simple and just march inside my bedroom one night and put a bullet between my eyes?”

“What the hell?!" Vee shrieked. "Why did you shoot him Rixon?" "Citizen's arrest," he said. "Well, that, and Patch told me too.""You can't shoot people just because Patch says to!" Vee said, her eyes wild.”

“A journey is a gesture inscribed in space, it vanishes even as it's made. You go from one place to another place, and on to somewhere else again, and already behind you there is no trace that you were ever there.”

“but art is not relative to perfection in any tangible sense. It is our coarse antennae trembling blindly as it traces the form of Origin, tastes the ephemeral glue welding us, yearning after the secret of ineluctable evolution, and wonders what this transformation will mean. In my mind, here was the best kind of art—the kind hoarded by rich and jealous collectors in their locked galleries; hidden from the eyes of the heathen masses, waiting to be shared with the ripe few”

“He looks again towards the door, expecting Mum to walk in and remind him of something he's forgotten. He smiles awkwardly. 'Is that it, Dad? I've got to go.' 'Your Mum said I should mention ... um ... satisfaction.' 'What!' 'She said young men should know things, should be told things so that the girl won't be ...' his eyes plead for understanding, '... disappointed.'[...] 'No worries, Dad. My biology teacher said I was a natural.' Dad looks confused.'I'm kidding, Dad.' [...] Poor bloke, having to do the dirty work while Mum's off with her gang. 'Dad? What did Grandpa tell you about sex?' 'He said if I got a girl pregnant, he'd kill me.”