Why do I feel a song coming on?" said Bean. The sarcastic words slipped out of him unbidden.

In the end it was only Peter who had something he could say from the heart. "Am I the only one here who sees something of himself in the man who's lying inside this box?"No one had an answer for him, either yes or no.

You honor our humble abode,' said Bean.'I do, don't I,' said Peter with a smile.

I want to be the kind of boy you are, thought Bean. But I don’t want to go through what you’ve been through to get there.

Don't be one of the scurrying, struggling ants.Be the shoe.

Because here's the thing―we don't give a shit about fairness here. We're soldiers. Soldiers do not give the other guy a sporting chance. Soldiers shoot in the back, lay traps and ambushes, lie to the enemy and outnumber the other bastard every chance they get. Your kind of murder only works among civilians. And you were too cocky, too stupid, too insane to realize it.

...the thing with brothers is, you're supposed to take turns being the keeper. Sometimes you get to sit down and be the brother who is kept.

Mom," said Peter, "nobody thinks you're a lackwit, if that's what you're worried about."Lackwit? In what musty drawer of some dead English professor's dust-covered desk did you find that word? I assure you that never in my worst nightmares did I ever suppose that I was a lackwit.

He walked down the corridor, lined with his soldiers, who looked at him with love, with awe, with trust. Except Bean, who looked at him with anguish. Ender Wiggin was not larger than life, Bean knew. He was exactly life-sized, and so his larger-than-life burden was too much for him. And yet he was bearing it. So far.