“Well, perhaps he's not my best friend, but I don't think he hates me anymore.”

“They‟re from my best friend,” I said. “They‟re from my best gay friend, Curtis Chapman.” He stood there, frozen, possibly thinking I was joking. “Curtis won‟t be back. He got out… he was saved. He won‟t have to be called names, picked on, tortured, and assaulted anymore. He‟s gone to a different school, and your days of bullying him are over.” “Jon, the kid‟s a fag!” “And he‟s my best friend, and I love him… and so does God”

“I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him forever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it.”

“The bulls are my best friends."I translated to Brett."You kill your friends?" she asked."Always," he said in English, and laughed. "So they don't kill me.”

“Herschel was a Jew.""And he was my best friend.""He was his best friend.""And I murdered him.”

“Is it okay to hate a dead kid? Even if you loved him once? Even if he was my best friend? Is it okay to hate him for being dead?”