“He walked over to Isaac and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Dude, pillows don’t break. Try something that breaks.”Isaac reached for a basketball trophy from the shelf above the bed and then held it over his head as if waiting for permission.“Yes,” Augustus said. “Yes!” The trophy smashed against the floor, the plastic basketball player’s arm splintering off, still grasping its ball. Isaac stomped on the trophy.“Yes!” Augustus said. “Get it!” And then back to me, “I’ve been looking for a way to tell my father that I actually sort of hate basketball, and I think we’ve found it.”

“Isaac was still clinging to the lectern. He started to cry. He pressed his forehead down to the podium and I watched his shoulders shake, and then finally, he said, 'Goddamn it, Augustus, editing your own eulogy.''Don't swear in the Literal Heart of Jesus,' Gus said.'Goddamn it," Isaac said again.”

“Augustus, perhaps you’d like to share your fears with the group.”“My fears?”“Yes.”“I fear oblivion,” he said without a moment’s pause. “I fear it like the proverbial blind man who’s afraid of the dark.”“Too soon,” Isaac said, cracking a smile.“Was that insensitive?” Augustus asked. “I can be pretty blind to other people’s feelings.”

“I imagined the Augustus Waters analysis of that comment: If I am playing basketball in heaven, does that imply a physical location of a heaven containing physical basketballs? Who makes the basketballs in question? Are there less fortunate souls in heaven who work in a celestial basketball factory so that I can play? Or did an omnipotent God create the basketballs out of the vacuum of space? Is this heaven in some kind of unobservable universe where the laws of physics don't apply, and if so, why in the hell would I be playing basketball when I could be flying or reading or looking at beautiful people or something else I actually enjoy? It's almost as if the way you imagine my dead self says more about you than either the person I was or whatever I am now.”

“Augustus: "I can still dominate your blind ass at Counterinsurgence,"Isaac: "I'm pretty sure all asses are blind,”

“His hand reached for her boob over her shirt and pawed at it, his palm still while his fingers moved around. I wondered if that felt good. Didn't seem like it would, but I decided to forgive Isaac on the grounds that he was going blind. The senses must feast while there is yet hunger and whatever."I think he's hurting her boob," I said."Yes, it's difficult to ascertain whether he is trying to arouse her or perform a breast exam.”