“What's your name, son?' Sam said. The man looked to be about Sam's age, but Sam always thought calling people 'son' immediately gave the air of imperial authority and opened the door for spanking if need be.”

“Sam took another sip of the pruno. It went down smoother this time, possibly because he no longer had feeling in his extremities.”

“The room fell silent. I frankly didn't know what I was going to do to help Eduardo, but I had the sense that he was right- no one else could help him, and without help, all that he'd done would crumble.Plus, I like being called his only hope. I felt like Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“There was a sweetness in my voice I found nauseating. I made a note to myself never to have children. Or at least not helpless children.”

“Sam LeClaire was a good-looking son of a bitch.”

“It was difficult to imagine that a full day hadn't yet passed since we boarded the airliner in New York. I paused. Medieval man believed that one was placed beyond the touch of time, and therefore aging, while attending Mass. What, I wondered, would he have made of those hours we left up in the sky? I would not change my watch until I gave the matter more thought.”

“Many of the younger generation know my name in a vague way and connect it with grotesque inventions, but don't believe that I ever existed as a person. They think I am a nonperson, just a name that signifies a tangled web of pipes or wires or strings that suggest machinery. My name to them is like a spiral staircase, veal cutlets, barber's itch—terms that give you an immediate picture of what they mean.”