“Now wait a second..." Kenneth butted in."Yeah, we haven't asked you the questions yet," Brandon finished for Kenneth."Yeah, like what are your intentions toward our little Ryan," Patrick added, smirking."What do you do for a living?" Brandon added."Can you support Ryan's shoe fetish?" Kenneth threw his question in too."Hmm, okay, here are my answers. I plan on feeding him, dancing with him and God willing fucking him until he can't walk straight. I help infertile chickens have baby chickens, and I think so. I'm hoping his feet are about my size. We can share shoes and everything," Phillip answered.”

“Oh, Kenneth, Kenneth, believe me - there's nothing I'd rather do! I want like hell to tell you. But I can't. I quite literally can't. Because, don't you see, what I know is what I am? And I can't tell you that. You have to find it out for yourself. I'm like a book you have to read. A book can't read itself to you. It doesn't even know what it's about. I don't know what I'm about.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk through the woods in a dress and heels?!”“So take them off…..”“What?” I question him, confused.“Well, not the dress obviously….unless you want to. I won’t object,” he smirks.“The shoes. Take off your shoes.”

“And then I picked up the nearest object-a shoe-and threw it at Jack's head."What are you doing in here, you little weasle?"He picked up my shoe from where it had clattered to the floor after hitting the door behind him. "How do you walk in these heels?" He sat and removed his own shoe,trying to jam his foot into my purple sling-back.I stalked over and yanked it awway. "What are you, five? Answer my question."He looked up at me, impossibly big blue eyes wide with innocence. "I thought we were friends, after you made me strip and all.""I'm calling Raquel.""Fine,fine. I was just doing some reconnaissance?""Reconnaissance?""Oh,sorry,that's a big word,isn't it? It means I was scoping the scene, getting the-""I know what it means! What,is IPCA investigating me now? Screw them, they can forget about any help from-""Do you ever let anyone else finish a sentence?" He smiled at my glare, flashing his dimples. "That's more like it. You're much prettier when you aren't talking. True of most people, I've found. Anyhow, I needed to see the address Raquel gave me so that I could find it again.”

“Why do you pray?" he asked me, after a moment. Why did I pray? A strange question. Why did I live? Why did I breathe?"I don't know why," I said, even more disturbed and ill at ease. "I don't know why."After that day I saw him often. He explained to me with great insistence that every question possessed a power that did not lie in the answer. "Man raises himself toward God by the questions he asks Him," he was fond of repeating. "That is the true dialogue. Man questions God and God answers. But we don't understand His answers. We can't understand them. Because they come from the depths of the soul, and they stay there until death. You will find the true answers, Eliezer, only within yourself!" "And why do you pray, Moshe?" I asked him. "I pray to the God within me that He will give me the strength to ask Him the right questions.”

“If you ask a living teacher a question, he will probably answer you. If you are puzzled by what he says, you can save yourself the trouble of thinking by asking him what he means. If, however, you ask a book a question, you must answer it yourself. In this respect a book is like nature or the world. When you question it, it answers you only to the extent that you do the work of thinking an analysis yourself.”