Dr. Jubal Harshaw, professional clown, amateur subversive, and parasite by choice, had an almost Martian attitude toward "hurry." Being aware that he had but a short time to live and having neither Martian nor Kansan faith in immortality, he purposed to live each golden moment as eternity—without fear, without hope, with sybaritic gusto.

Mahmoud drank what was left and spoke, but in Arabic: " ‘And if ye mingle your affairs with theirs, then they are your brothers.’ " "Amen," Jubal agreed.

But Jill hadn’t known that she had any prissiness until she lost it. At last she was able to admit to herself that there was something inside her as happily shameless as a tabby in heat.

I’ve found out why people laugh. They laugh because it hurts . . . because it’s the only thing that’ll make it stop hurting."

"Attend me, Ben. Anybody can see a pretty girl. An artist can look at a pretty girl and see the old woman she will become. A better artist can look at an old woman and see the pretty girl she used to be. A great artist can look at an old woman, portray her exactly as she is . . . and force the viewer to see the pretty girl she used to be . . . more than that, he can make anyone with the sensitivity of an armadillo see that this lovely young girl is still alive, prisoned inside her ruined body. He can make you feel the quiet, endless tragedy that there was never a girl born who ever grew older than eighteen in her heart . . . no matter what the merciless hours have done. Look at her, Ben. Growing old doesn’t matter to you and me—but it does to them. Look at her!"

It was intense all right and got steadily more so, but—Jubal, ever try a spiritualist seance?" "I have. I’ve tried everything I could, Ben."

‘Love’ is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own."

"You, too, Ben. You fancy yourself a free soul—and break that evil code. But faced with a problem in sexual ethics new to you, you tested it against the same Judeo-Christian code . . . so automatically your stomach did flip-flops . . . and you think that proves you’re right and they’re wrong. Faugh! I’d as lief use trial by ordeal. All your stomach can reflect is prejudice trained into you before you acquired reason."

Age does not bring wisdom, Ben, but it does give perspective . . . and the saddest sight of all is to see, far behind you, temptations you’ve resisted.