Book of Quotes

I Am the Cheese

I Am the Cheese by Robert Cormier 

-"He was intrigued by the power of words, not the literary words that filled the books in the library but the sharp, staccato words that went into the writing of news stories. Words that went for the jugular. Active verbs that danced and raced on the page." 

-"A: Funny about my mother. All my life, from the time I was just a little kid, I thought of her as a sad person. I mean, the way some people are tall or fat or skinny. My father always seemed the stronger one. As if he was a bright color and she was a faded color. I know it sounds crazy.

T: Not at all.

A: But later, when I learned the truth about our lives, I found she was still sad. But strong, too. Not faded at all. It wasn't sadness so much as fear—the Never Knows." 

-"This is Mechanic Street in Monument, and to my right, high above on a hill, there's a hospital and I glance up at the place and I think of my father in Rutterberg, Vermont, and my pedaling accelerates."

-"I went to the cabinet in the den and took out the gift for my father. I wrapped it in aluminum foil and then wrapped it again with newspaper, Scotch-taping it all securely."

-"A: Well, it's as if they were deciding my fate. I thought they were going to send me away. I heard my mother say, 'But what do we tell him?' And my father saying, 'It doesn't matter, he's too young to realize what's happening.'"

-"A: It was spooky, scary, but not in a haunted house sort of way. But as if we were being chased, as if we were running away."

-"He didn't want to confide the knowledge to the doctor, however. The doctor was a complete stranger and although he seemed sympathetic and friendly, he wasn't entirely comfortable with him."

-"Do you know who the bad guys are?"

- "You can tell them a mile away, the wise guys. I recognized them as soon as I stepped into the place. They are everywhere in the world, in the schools and offices, in the theaters and factories, in stores and hospitals."

-"Of course you don't. Because you can't tell the good guys from the bad guys anymore. Nobody knows these days. Nobody. No privacy, either."

-"Who am I? I am Adam Farmer. But who am I? I am Adam Farmer. But Adam Farmer was only a name, words, a lesson he had learned here in the cold room and in that other room with the questions and answers."

-"T: Should we review, then? Review all you have remembered? All the blanks that have been filled?

A: No. I don't care about the blanks that are filled in. It's the ones that are still blanks that I want to talk about. What am I doing here? How long have I been here? I hate this place. The people here hate me, too."

-"The car brushes by and hands reach out for me, pushing, grabbing, and I lose my balance, the bike wavers under me and heads for the ditch, the steep ravine by the side of the road, and I am helpless to halt its progress toward the ditch, and the wheels spin and I hear raucous laughter as I loom at the edge of the ditch and then feel myself falling, spinning, sucked into the ditch, sucked into the wetness and darkness of a sudden startling nightmare."

-"Even today. Grey said our tracks are covered. Three bodies cremated ten years ago in Blount, New York. But who knows? Who really knows?"

-"Because nobody knows how powerful these organizations — maybe there's more than one — are today. Nobody knows how far they might have penetrated the government."

-"But there's a catch. No one knows whether I divulged all the information, everything I knew. That's another reason for all this surveillance. And maybe it's the real reason for Grey's trips here."

-"That look gives me the chills. Sometimes, I think I'm an annoyance to him, an embarrassment. Sometimes, when he visits, we sit there like enemies."

-"Brint, who he was convinced now was not a doctor at all. But then, who was he? Adam recoiled from the possibilities. Was he an enemy? One of those men who had been his father's enemy?"

-"I am riding the bicycle and I am on Route 31 in Monument, Massachusetts, on my way to Rutterberg, Vermont, and I'm pedaling furiously because this is an old-fashioned bike, no speeds, no fenders, only the warped tires and the brakes that don't always work and the handlebars with cracked rubber grips to steer with. A plain bike — the kind my father rode as a kid years ago. It's cold as I pedal along, the wind like a snake slithering up my sleeves and into my jacket and my pants legs, too. But I keep pedaling, I keep pedaling . . ."