“You don't get Billie Joe Armstrong's autograph on your forehead without following your instincts.”

“Your pants didn't get smaller, Mommy," I assured her. "Your butt got bigger.”

“Don't have to see," the pilot grunted. "Olga knows the way.""Funny name for an aircraft," Grace commented. "Is it after your wife?""My gun."Grace stared at him. "You named your plane after a gun?""It was a very good gun.”

“In our family, you don't get a childhood. We're too busy trying to dominate the world.”

“Where's Amy?" Ian put in. "Will you please get her to call that Evan character? He rings here twenty times a day. He's either the most mule-headed person who ever lived, or he really likes your sister. She has to have mercy on him–on all of us!”

“The phone rang in the comm. center. Ian consulted the monitor. "It's Dan." He pressed a button. "Kabra here."Dan's voice crackled through the attic. "Don't say it like that," he complained. "Your name still gives me heartburn.”

“You know what punk is? a bunch of no-talent guys who really, really want to be in a band. Nobody reads music, nobody plays the mandolin, and you're too dumb to write songs about mythology or Middle-earth. So what's your style? Three chords, cranked out fast and loud and distorted because your instruments are crap and you can't play them worth a damn. And you scream your lungs out to cover up the fact that you can't sing. It should suck, but here's the thing - it doesn't. Rock and roll can be so full of itself, but not this. It's simple and angry and raw.”