“In an angry fit, my mother had called him an airhead, who couldn't find his brain even if it came knocking on his door.”

“Though this child came in with nothing but excess baby fat, chemical brain waves, and mother and son bodily toxins on his legs, he had a fate fit for a modern day demigod.”

“She remebered the angry hurt she had felt because his mother had abandoned him as a young boy,and she cried even harder.His mother should have drowned him!”

“There was no warning, not even a knock. The door flew open, and he forgot his present aches and pains in anticipation of what lay in store. The figure that stood in the door was not that of an enemy. It was worse. It was his mother.”

“Knock, Knock!' [Puck] called in a high, singsong voice. For a moment, silence. Then came a thud and a crash, as if something heavy had been hurled at the door. 'Go away!' snaled the voice from within. 'Ah, no. That's not how the joke goes,' called Puck.'I say 'knock, knock', and you're supposed to answer with 'who's there?'' 'Fuck off!' 'Nope, that's still wrong”

“Once, in his first term, Cartwright had been bold enough to ask him why he was clever, what exercises he did to keep his brain fit. Healey had laughed."It's memory, Cartwright, old dear. Memory, the mother of the Muses... at least that's what thingummy said.""Who?""You know, what's his name, Greek poet chap. Wrote the Theogony... what was he called? Begins with an 'H'.""Homer?""No, dear. Not Homer, the other one. No, it's gone. Anyway. Memory, that's the key.”