“It used to be that you could get a lot of recognition by writing about Canada, as long as it was about small towns and nature.''Really?''Yeah. You could have canoes and the prairies or, also, sad women, very sad women who were fat or whose husbands had left them or something. There was a lady who wrote about fucking a bear, which was like a union with the land. There was a lady who wrote about mystical experiences she had at a cottage in northern Ontario. I was never sure what that was about. They were very important at one time, very stern and important. I had to study them in school. Anyway, he was one of them. He concentrated on the prairies, with a lot of native names, and wise native people, like there's a young boy with an Ojibway grandmother who will teach him the ways of the forest, sort of thing, and there's a lot of history, like a lot of the Riel rebellion for example.''The what?''History. And there's a lot of disaster, on the prairies, like people having to rebuild their sod houses after floods and so on.'They drove on the humming highway for a while.Then Nicola said, 'So you haven't answered my question.''What question?''Do you think he's any good?''Oh. The thing is... it's not, it doesn't matter. It's important. So it doesn't matter if I think it's good or not.''Okay. So it doesn't matter. So I'm asking you. What you think. Do. You. Think. It's. Good.' She slapped her bare thigh.James paused for a long moment... He said, 'There's one Boben book, I think it's Cold Season, or maybe it's Comfort of Winter, which ends with the line, "a story which Canadians must never tire of telling." What do you think of that line? A story which Canadians must never tire of telling.'She shrugged. 'I have no idea.''I'll tell you what you think of it. You don't give a shit. I'll tell you what I think of it. I don't give a shit either. But I also think it's the worst bullshit I've ever heard. I think,' he said, accelerating, 'that Ludwig Boben is a fucking asshole.”

“You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There's still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don't think he knows.”

“I asked him what it was like to have a dad. He said he didn't think it mattered who you had as long as you had somebody good.”

“I've never met a girl who thinks like you.""A lot of people tell me that," she said, digging at a cuticle. "But it's the only way I know how to think. Seriously. I'm just telling you what I believe. It's never crossed my mind that my way of thinking is different from other people's. I'm not trying to be different. But when I speak out honestly, everybody thinks I'm kidding or playacting. When that happens, I feel like everything is such a pain!”

“My dad said to me a few years ago: "There's no harm in thinking." We were talking about Crazy Uncle Albert and whether it was right to use your brain to build weapons.He said, "You can't expect people not to think. Not to know things just because they COULD be bad."I said, "Yeah, but then they built it and a hundred thousand people died."My dad laughed and said there were a lot of steps between the thinking and the doing.Which I know, duh. All I was saying is that when you think of doing something, you don't always know the consequences. For a while people THOUGHT about building the bomb, but nothing happened. In the end it was a lot of different people doing a lot of different things, most of which had nothing to do with the bomb, that did make it happen.I think about that sometimes. Who was the person who had the first thought, the one that started it all?And after they had the thought, what was the first thing they did?I know my uncle never thought, Hey, all this great science- one day I'll use it to kill a whole bunch of people. You just look at his picture; he's not that kind of person.And yet, I guess in a way he sort of is.”

“Nothing he said could change what I think of you. I've had my mind made up about you for a long time... and it's all good.”