'"Nah, I don't commit sins," she said, standing up and stepping out of the confession box.
"Pride is sin," I said.
"I'm not proud," she said, quite sure of herself. "It was fluffy in there," she added, blowing her nose. "And it smelled like the inside of a cutlery drawer. The kind in a sideboard, where you keep the best silver."' (p. 62)
"Great, I thought. Bleedin' marvelous. It all depends on me. I'm like the fella in the story that's holding up the earth. He's thrown forward onto his knees, and he's got the world on his back. Poor eejit. Hercules. No, Atlas." (p. 145)