“You can survive alone, or you can *live* together. I know which option William would chose—has chosen,” he said, shaking me as if he wished he could shake some sense into me. “You have to make your choice.”

“You can make some inferences about a man's character if you know something about the conditions in which he has survived and prospered.”

“But you," "Sixteen is perfect. You can spend the rest of your lives together. He won't have to be alone.”

“I don't know what happened to me," he said, shaking his head. "I honestly don't." ... "You grew up, Alex.”

“I don't know how to say it exactly. Only...I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?' he asks. I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself. 'I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not.”

“I'm Chip Martin," he announced in a deep voice, the voice of a radio deejay. Before I could respond, he added, "I'd shake your hand, but I think you should hold on damn tight to that towel till you can get some clothes on.”