J.O.I.'s father's garage monologue (p. 159)
Son, you’re ten, and this is hard news for somebody ten, even if you’re almost five-eleven, a possible pituitary freak. Son, you’re a body, son. That quick little scientific-prodigy’s mind she’s so proud of and won’t quit twittering about: son, it’s just neural spasms, those thoughts in your mind are just the sound of your head revving, and head is still just body, Jim. Commit this to memory. Head is body.
Context
The body-doctrine belongs to the-body-tennis; what earns a texture slot here is the delivery mechanism — memory as the vessel of paternal transmission, "Commit this to memory" one generation before Hal's eidetic gift makes such commands redundant.