“You could call me antisocial, I’ve called myself that sometimes too, but I just prefer to be alone, and that’s nothing against you.”

“Just so you know, you can call me anything you want—just as long as you always call me.”

“Are you demented, you stupid badger? Is that your problem? Or are you just an idiot?"
"As to that, I… Did you just call me a badger?"
"A bastard. I called you a bastard.”

“Forgive me…. I called you an idiot. I spoke too hastily. You are not. Had I given it more thought, I would have called you a scoundrel.”

“Why no. I’m too conceited. If you want to call it that. I don’t make
comparisons. I never think of myself in relation to anyone else. I just refuse
to measure myself as part of anything. I’m an utter egotist.”

“No, you don’t need to help me. But if you don’t, there’s nothing stopping me from calling you up again and again, now that I know you can’t kill me. Think of it as me leaning against your Heavenly doorbell… forever.”

“I am not unambitious. I am just too ambitious for what you call ambitions.”

“I shall be called discontented. I could not help it: the restlessness was in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes.”

“And please don't call me that."

I didn't call you 'that', I called you George Washington.”

““You could call it that,” Auberson sighed. It wouldn’t be correct, but you could call it that.”