But, Hubertus," Cayce offers, "what if Dorothea is..."
"Yes?" He leans forward, palms flat on the table.
"A vicious lying cunt?"
Bigend giggles, a deeply alarming sound. "Well," he says, "we are in the business of advertising, after all." He smiles.

The heart is a muscle. You 'know' in your limbic system. The seat of instinct. The mammalian brain. Deeper, wider, beyond logic. That is where advertising works, not in the upstart cortex. What we think of as 'mind' is only a sort of jumped-up gland, piggybacking on the reptilian brainstem and the older, mammalian mind, but our culture tricks us into recognizing it as all of consciousness. The mammalian spreads continent-wide beneath it, mute and muscular, attending its ancient agenda. And makes it buy things.

It is a good thing that women are so easily manipulated. Otherwise, most of us wouldn't be here.

I warn you against believing that advertising is a science.

Today's smartest advertising style is tomorrow's corn.

In advertising not to be different is virtually suicidal.