“He sang “I wish I weren’t me” over and over again just flat of the key of love until he forgot the words and could only hum along. Everyday was the same. The same stupid smile on the same stupid boy. Until the days blurred into a haze and the boy dropped into a depression. Not a cool dark room and cigarette depression like the songs he loved, but one that felt like he was being smothered by a safe, suburban, monotonous blanket. Everything felt like a headache to the boy. Every face, every stupid stuttered sentence all wrapped up into the biggest headache ever. So the boy took an aspirin. And another and another and then went to sleep, lullabyed by hopes he would never wake up to.”

“After you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but he will never afterwards be quite the same boy. No one ever gets over the first unfairness; no one except Peter.”

“Every child is affected thus the first time he is treated unfairly . All he thinks he has a right to when he comes to you to be yours is fairness. After you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but will never afterwards be the same boy. No one ever gets over the first unfairness; no one except Peter. He often met it, but he always forgot it. I suppose that was the real difference between him and all the rest.”

“ The stupid boy has the nerve to laugh. I sit up and punch him in the gut. Stupid boy ain't laughing now. Now he's too busy grunting in pain. ”

“Remember, Thursday, that scientific thought -- indeed, any mode of thought, whether it be religious or philosophical or anything else -- is just like the fashions that we wear -- only much longer lived. It's a little like a boy band.""Scientific thought a boy band? How do you figure that?""Well, every now and then a boy band comes along. We like it, buy the records, posters, parade them on TV, idolise them right up until --"..."-- the next boy band?" I suggested."Precisely. Aristotle was a boy band. A very good one but only number six or seven. He was the best boy band until Isaac Newton, but even Newton was transplanted by an even newer boy band. Same haircuts -- but different moves.""Einstein, right?""Right. Do you see what I'm saying?""I think so.""Good. So try and think of maybe thirty or forty boy bands past Einstein. To where we would regard Einstein as someone who glimpsed a truth, played one good chord on seven forgettable albums.""Where is this going, Dad?""I'm nearly there. Imagine a boy band so good that you never needed another boy band ever again. Can you imagine that?”

“It was wrong then—for a stupid black city girl to fall in love with a smart southern white boy. But watching him chase the ball until he was right in front of me, I was enamored.”