More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
centuries of bare palms and shuffling feet could wear down solid steel. One molecule at a time,
Holston’s childhood now felt like something two or three lifetimes ago, something someone else had enjoyed.
“Everyone does it. There must be some reason, right?”
None of it was real enough to rebel against. The animal part of his mind wasn’t made for this, to be calmly ushered to a death it was perfectly aware of.
Her hair stirred with the breath from his words.
“A father for a character witness?” Marnes laughed. “Don’t reckon you’ll get much of an impartial there.”
She was used to hearing the chirp of old doors up and down the staircase as they opened and closed. They were the stairwell’s version of the wildlife found in the farms, ever present and always singing.
Jahns wondered if this was a survival mechanism that had kicked in after these events, or a personality trait already in place.
Jahns nibbled on a cornbar while she walked, priding herself on “eating on the climb” like a porter.
these strange machines were some organ of primacy. Their power draw was a constant source of contention during budget meetings.
Maybe God would hear her thoughts and rat her out.
How long before Bernard was mayor? Or worse: a puppet master with strings interwoven throughout the silo.
the novel gradually became the habitual.
She had a fierce intelligence you could measure from a distance.
The deputy possessed that distinctly male quality of pretending to know where he was, even when he didn’t.
“Jules? I know her like a sister. We’re all family down here.” He said this as though he assumed the rest of the silo operated differently.
Jahns was proud of herself for accepting the firm grip without caring about the grease.
sounds like she cares
Jahns felt butterflies in her stomach as they discussed these things. Or perhaps it was the nerves of all she wanted to say but couldn’t.
If people like Jahns and Marnes were able to get by, to survive, she figured she’d be okay.
Power without dread,
The people of the up top who worshipped this view had it all backward—the future was below.
the spattered tears that smeared occasional words and caused the paper to pucker.
people were like machines. They broke down. They rattled. They could burn you or maim you if you weren’t careful.
gave birth to old pains.
a rattle had been wrenched away.
What was it all about, this life they lived in underground confines?
knew only how to dampen or augment what it already knew.
She used to admire people who stood out, but now she found herself wary of them.
quite handsome in that clean, officelike way.
She could tell the tomato was delicious, but only in a mechanical way.
one of those who had grown old everywhere but in his heart, that one organ he had never worn out because he’d never dared to use it.
“People want continuity. They want to know tomorrow will be a lot like yesterday.
Allison had gotten the stirs,
“Jules, this thing can make brand-new views. It can show you anything you like.”
AI!!
a slice of time hung in the air between them, a pause where hearts did not beat and eyes did not blink.
A project to pull the wool back from everyone’s eyes, a favor to the next fool who slipped up or dared to hope aloud.
that hard enamel of numbness and disbelief. People didn’t talk softer; they just sounded that way.
they’re good in Supply.
She enjoyed the sounds of the traveling, the footfalls and the rhythmic song of her mother and father chatting about adult things, their voices drifting back and forth as she faded in and out.
the naps returned with their gentle erasure of time.
The fur was so soft, it was like it wasn’t there.
touched the part of him that yearned to map the stars.
The young porter slapped Walker on the arm, needing, obviously, to strike something with his enthusiasm.
the air peppered with soaring things.
the temptation to believe was overwhelming.
Whatever the reason, the jarring and illogical nature of the view left her dizzy.
That she liked nothing more than peering inside of toasters.
In her mind, as she pushed the door open a crack, she wasn’t in a different silo, an abandoned husk of a silo, but in her past, pushing open a door on her youth.
his tail swishing the floor like a dropped air hose with a stuck nozzle that had gone out of control.
Killing a man should be harder than waving a length of pipe in their direction. It should take long enough for one’s conscience to get in the way.
