When his son's body is found in a humiliating accident, a lonely high school teacher inadvertently attracts an overwhelming amount of community and media attention after covering up the truth with a phony suicide note.

Lance Clayton: I used to think the worst thing in life was to end up all alone. It's not. The worst thing in life is ending up with people who make you feel all alone.
Lance Clayton: You guys didn't like Kyle. That's okay. I didn't either. I loved him. He was my son. But he was also a douchebag.
Lance Clayton: Ernest Hemingway once said all he wanted to do was write one true sentence. He also tried to scratch an itch on the back of his head with a shotgun.
Lance Clayton: If you're that depressed, reach out to someone, and remember, suicide is a permanent solution to temporary problems.
Lance Clayton: Come on now, Kyle, you must be passionate about something.
Kyle: You wanna know what I like? I like looking at vaginas.
Lance Clayton: Oh.
Kyle: All day long.
Lance Clayton: What's Andrew doing here?
Kyle: What? Andrew? Don't bother Andrew, alright? He has asthma.
Andrew: You know what's strange about the book?
Lance Clayton: What?
Andrew: Kyle never talks about vaginas, anal sex, fisting, felching, or rimjobs.
Lance Clayton: Yeah, it is a little light in the felching area, you're right. But I think it's there, Andrew, in its own way.
Claire: So, do you play sports?
Kyle: No, I'm a big spaz like my dad.
Lance Clayton: Well, I was in the dive team in college.
Kyle: Diving's not really a sport; it's falling.
Kyle: Bruce Hornsby's a fag.
Lance Clayton: He's got kids, Kyle.
Kyle: You have a kid. And you're a fag.
Lance Clayton: Poetry is about saying something from your heart. Something personal, okay?
Andrew: I think they're doing it.
Kyle: What? You think that they're fucking? Andrew, Andrew, you have to understand that fucking pussy's virgin shit, alright?

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