“This made no sense to me, probably because I speak English and have never had a head injury.”

“So why don't you tell him you're sorry?" Gaby suggested. "Uh... because he probably never wants to speak to me again?""How do you know? Do you have a fifth sense too?"Scarlett sighed. "No. And I think that's sixth sense.""No, I don't see dead people. It's different.”

“It's hard for me to speak, whether in English or Afrikaans. The reason I write is because I cannot speak. I feel blunt.”

“I am sick of speaking English like this... I am scared that I have become a person who is always very aware of talking, speaking, and I have become a person without confidence, because I can't be me. I have become so small, so tiny, while the English culture surrounding me becomes enormous. It swallows me... I am dominated by it... Why do we have to force ourselves to communicate with people? Why is the process of communication so troubled and so painful?”

“I left the clinic in a daze that had nothing to do with my head injury. Clear up in a week or so? How could Dr. Olendzki speak so lightly about this? I was going to look like a mutant for Christmas and most of the ski trip. I had a black eye. A freaking black eye.And my mother had given it to me.”

“Just so you know, I speak English. You don’t have to macho-speak with shit like ‘you with me’ after you macho-speak with a bunch of bossing me around. I get you. I’m with you. Or if I’m not, I’ll tell you.”“Noted,” he muttered but sounded like he was smiling. I made the diplomatic decision not to look.”