“Any chance that you're pregnant?' the technician says as he pulls the X-ray lamp over my swollen knee.'No,' Henry and Dad say at the same time.”

“My Dad says that being a Londoner has nothing to do with where you're born. He says that there are people who get off a jumbo jet at Heathrow, go through immigration waving any kind of passport, hop on the tube and by the time the train's pulled into Piccadilly Circus they've become a Londoner.”

“For what it's worth," Dad says, running his fingers over the picture, "I've never seen anyone run faster than Henry after you hurt your knee last week.”

“I'm done, Travis." He winced. "Don't say that." "It's over. Go home." His eyebrows pulled in. "You're my home.”

“My dad used to say the definition of stupidity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Or maybe that was the definition of crazy.”

“Nobody who says as little as he does is as simple as you'd think. It takes a lot to not say a lot, because when you're not talking, you're thinking, and he thinks a lot. My mum and dad talked all the time. Talkers don't think much; their words drown out any possibility of hearing their subconscious asking, Why did you say that? What do you really think?”