“He looks like he could be taken in a fight. Not by me, but by somebody. Not anyone in Humanities, probably.”

“Looking at him like that, I felt like I needed something from him, or somebody, and that probably meant that he also needed something from me, or somebody, but the revelation was like looking at spots on a slide. Knowing that it meant something to somebody wasn't the same as it meaning something to you.”

“He was supposed to be my enemy. He was probably insane. And he was my friend. Not that he wouldn’t kill me if things turned out that way, but he wouldn’t like doing it. With humans, what more could you ask of a friend?”

“All in all, he looked kind of ... dangerous. Like he could kick somebody's ass, big time, but with style. Like a suave, tough-guy super spy.”

“He felt like somebody had taken the lid off life and let him see the works.”

“Why would anyone want to fight Henry?" Loondorf looked hurt."Because he's a ballplayer.""So?""So he's a baller. He's got cash, chains, crisp clothes. He's got a hat that says Yankees and it's the real deal, yo. He didn't buy it at no yard sale. He walks into a bar and girls are like damn. Dudes get jealous. They want to get in his face, prove they're somebody.""They want to take down the man," Steve said helpfully.”