“I saw myself in a piece of glass that wasn’t a mirror. Was that my doppelganger or my clone? Who was that? Who am I? Maybe if I hadn’t been acting like a reverse Peeping Tom, trying to look out into the world, this existential dilemma wouldn’t have popped up.”

“I am my own clone. I’m not who I was yesterday, but then again I am.”

“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?”

“The question is not where am I, but who am I? Where I am: Inside the body of my clone.”

“Who am I to ask you who you are, even if you’re my clone.”

“I haven’t been feeling like myself lately. No, I’ve been feeling like my clone.”

“When I see a poor person I think of me, and then I think, maybe I should pay my clones for all the work they do for me. Then I think, nah, they’re only slaves. Through my clones, I am a slave to myself.”