“The smoke! The golden smoke! His robe whipped upward, turning him until his face was directed downward into the abyss. With his gaze on the depths, he recognized a maelstrom of boiling rapids there, the mirror of his life-precipitous currents and plunges, all movement gathering up all substance. Leto’s words wound through his mind on a path of golden smoke: “Caution is the path to mediocrity. Gliding, passionless mediocrity is all that most people think they can achieve.” Moneo fell freely then in the ecstasy of awareness. The universe opened for him like clear glass, everything flowing in a no Time.”

“The leaf fall of his words, the stained glass hues of his moods, the rust in his voice, the smoke in his mouth, his breath on my vision like human breath blinding a mirror.”

“The man who lies asleep will never waken fame, and his desire and all his life drift past him like a dream, and the traces of his memory fade from time like smoke in air, or ripples on a stream.”

“Simone! Are you all right? Simone!"And a voice, grunting with pain, says, "Todd?"And-And it ain't Simone's voice.The smoke starts to clear.And it ain't Simone."You saved me, Todd," says the Mayor, lying there, bad burns all over his face and hands, his clothes smoking like a brush fire. "You saved my life."And his eyes are full of wonder of it-That in the rush of the explozhun the person I chose to save-The one I chose without even thinking-(without there even being time for him to control me-)(no time for him to make me do it-)Was the Mayor.”

“A hand of smoke took his hand, started him downward, if it was downward, showed him a centre, if it was a centre, put it in his stomach, where the vodka was softly making crystal bubbles, some sort of infinitely beautiful and desperate illusion which some time back he had called immortality.”

“You look very handsome, Papa," I say.The twinkle is back in his eyes. "Smoke and mirrors," he says with a wink. "Smoke and mirrors.”