“I asked myself a question, but I wouldn’t answer, because it was too personal. I wish I had a clone, so he could answer for me.”
“I wish I had an answer to that because I'm tired of answering that question.”
“I am what I am, and I don’t need to prove it—least of all to myself. And I’ll be damned if I ever answer to my clone. Who is he to question me?”
“Why do you believe in God?" the woman asked me in the busy corridor. I don't remember the answer I gave. It was probably too long and rattled in her ears. I wish I could go back and answer her again. "Because HE believes in me," I would say. Isn't that enough?”
“Why do people always expect authors to answer questions? I am an author because I want to ask questions. If I had answers, I'd be a politician.”
“I did what I did for my clone, not for my own personal gain. It wasn’t right that he asked it of me, so I asked it of myself.”