“If you're God's instrument, Owen," I said, "how come you need my help to stuff a basketball?”

“… and then showed Owen the reservation. Four people. “But we’re only two,” Owen said. “Yeah, but my ego needs more space than that.”

“You know, there comes a point where you're not giving advice anymore. There comes a point where you're just moralizing, demonstrating your hypothetical superiority when it comes to doing the right thing. That's not very fucking helpful, you know. I'm holding my shit together right now, and rather than telling me that it's not enough, you could try to help me with the stuff I'm capable of.”

“I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice. Not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother's death, but because he is the reason I believe in God. I am a Christian because of Owen Meany.”

“There is beautiful you are.""No," said Marged, between a sigh and a sob."Yes," said Owen."No," said Marged, not so certain."Behold," Owen said, from Solomon. "thou art fair. Thou hast dove's eyes.""Dove's eyes are small." Marged said."Yours are so big they are my whole world," said Owen.”

“You're stalking me," Owen said.Sterling shook his head. "I prefer the word 'following'; it sounds less creepy.""But that doesn't make it any less annoying." Owen said,raising his eyebrows. "You almost make me wish you were mine to deal with; I can promise you'd be regretting this behavior very soon."That wiped the grin off Sterling's place. "God, I wouldn't regret anything if I was. Yours, I mean. I'd let you do whatever you wanted."'Let me'?" Owen asked pointedly. "Somehow, I think you've misunderstood the definition of submission.”