“Let's say that when I was a little baby, and all my bones soft and malleable, I was put in a small Episcopal cruciform box and so took my shape. Then, when I broke out of the box, the way a baby chick escapes an egg, is it strange that I had the shape of a cross? Have you ever noticed that chickens are roughly egg-shaped?”

“Take this one to the bank: birds are hatched from eggs and are always egg-shaped. Maybe there's no escaping the shape that molds you, no getting around how you got started even if you do break out.”

“Well, then, Otter, of course I don’t like Bundt cake. It has eggs in it. Baby chicken eggs. You don’t see chickens standing outside of maternity wards waiting to get our babies to make their Bundt cake, do you?”

“I have aspirations of becoming the first man to put on a chicken suit, cross the road, and then explain my motives for doing so. I guess you could say that right now I am an egg, and my dream is an omelet; I see myself in my dream, yet it is greater and more colorful than even I am.”

“My body is the shape I live in and it shapes the way I live.”

“Would wheel square in shape if earth's box in shape?”