Nick Bederaux: Life is short and the art long. Decision difficult, experiment perilous.
Clag: He looks into the eyes of a beautiful woman and the only thing he sees is an inflamed cornea.
Nick Bederaux: If any man had one moment of sanity, in that one moment, he would take himself out of this world.
Clag: Well, you've seen the portrait and the model. Is it a speaking likeness?
Dr. Huntington Bailey: No, I don't think it is. If I were painting her, I'd do it quite differently.
Nick Bederaux: How would you paint her?
Dr. Huntington Bailey: Well, it wouldn't be a sullen face or a woman dressed up behind a tea tray. I'd paint her full length for one thing. In a country field with a sky behind. Long grasses till her knees. The wind blowing across the field - and the daisies too.
Clag: Well, well, daisies too. Quite an effect. I take back what I said about you never really looking into a woman's eyes. We may make an artist of you yet.
Nick Bederaux: I read your article on the Napoleonic complex last year. Always suspected I might have something of that sort.
Cissie: I know a lot about doctors. There's something I like about them all. The fat ones, and the thin ones, and the homely ones. And the good-looking ones. It's as if they were looking at something beneath the flesh. Something that does not change.
Clag: Hunt, shine my halo! I did get you here.
Nick Bederaux: Mentality never quite makes up for the physical, does it, my dear?
Alec: Those weren't just the words of a poem before. It's a stupid poem anyway. I, I can't write about you.
Allida Bederaux: Oh, please.
Alec: When I try, I go off the deep end. I wanna say how you are. How I know you are. Warm, simple, and bright inside. You're not a great lady, in a great house. You're the earth and everything that grows and breathes. And when I'm not with you, it's a blank.
Dr. Huntington Bailey: I think Nick maybe right, Allida. You worry too much about your boy. He has some fears probably. But who hasn't? You mentioned something about his having dreams of tigers under his crib. Well, I can't say that that's so unnatural. In a sense, we all have tigers of some sort under our beds, haven't we?
Dr. Huntington Bailey: I didn't like him the first time I met him, I told you so. The more I know him, the less I like him. There's something out of tune with him. Like, like a chord of music with a basic note missing.
Dr. Huntington Bailey: He's reasonable, logical. Even brilliant. But he's at war. With what or with whom, I don't know. Perhaps with life. If that's true, it might've been better If he'd turned down life all together in the beginning.
Dr. Huntington Bailey: His mother died when he was born. He was hated by a father who committed suicide a year later. He was raised by a sister, who I believe hated him too. Although, she certainly never knew it. She made a burnt offering of her life.
District Attorney: It's alright, Mrs. Bederaux.