“You think you’re a very clever fellow, don’t you?” Saldur challenged.“No, Your Grace,” Merrick replied. “Clever is the man who makes a fortune selling dried-up cows, explaining how it saves the farmers the trouble of getting up every morning to milk them. I’m not clever—I’m a genius.”

“I hate being clever, thought the captain, when you don’t really feel clever and don’t want to be clever. To sneak around andmake plans and feel big about making them. I hate this feeling of thinking I’m doing right when I’m not really certain I am. Whoare we, anyway? The majority? Is that the answer? The majority is always holy, is it not? Always, always; just never wrong forone little insignificant tiny moment, is it? Never ever wrong in ten million years? He thought: What is this majority and who are init? And what do they think and how did they get that way and will they ever change and how the devil did I get caught in thisrotten majority? I don’t feel comfortable. Is it claustrophobia, fear of crowds, or common sense? Can one man be right, while allthe world thinks they are right? Let’s not think about it. Let’s crawl around and act exciting and pull the trigger. There, and there!”

“Put a very clever man next to a genius, his brightness will immediately turn to dullness!”

“Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment.”

“You and Teacher,” said Molly.“Yes,” said Peter. “She’s very clever. You’ll like her.”“I’m sure,” said Molly.”

“I have to tell you, Arty, a screw up this early in the proceedings doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence. I hope you’re as clever as you keep telling everyone you are.” “I never tell anybody exactly how clever I am. They would be too scared...”