“This is my child, he said. I wash a dead man's brains out of his hair. That is my job.”

“Jesus loves me! He who dead heaven's gate to open wide; He will wash away my sin, let His little child come in. Jesus loves me! He will stay close beside me all the way; if I love Him when I die He will take me home on high.”

“i open my eyes and blow a straggle of hair out of my face. Not my hair, smitty's. his head is buried in the crook of my neck and he's out cold. he uses raspberry shampoo? what a big girl.”

“it greatly bothered him that I had such a flunky job, washing cages and sweeping up dogs' hair; and also that I was no longer a college man but trying to keep up on Helmholtz who was a dead number to him; in other words, that I should be of the unformed darkened-out mass. It was often that way with me, that people would feel the world owed me distinctness.”

“You hit me again," I said, growing oddly annoyed."Ya think?" Evil Riggs said. Smart-ass."Part of my brain hurts. I demand to know what that part of my brain is called and what its job is.”

“Grandfather's been dead all these years, but if you lifted my skull, by God, in the convolutions of my brain you'd find the big ridges of his thumbprint. He touched me. As I said earlier, he was a sculptor. 'I hate a Roman named Status Quo!' he said to me. 'Stuff your eyes with wonder,' he said, 'live as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.”