Atlas Shrugged

by Ayn Rand

He wanted no sadness attached to his childhood; he loved its memories: any day of it he remembered now seemed flooded by a still, brilliant sunlight.

When he was asked what he would want to do, he answered at once, “Whatever is right,”

sacrifice the interests of the whole country and give him all our trains?” “Why, no. He doesn’t expect anything. He just deals with the Phoenix-Durango.”

to me, by which one gauges a man’s value to society. And as for his oil, he’d

If she were insane, thought Dagny, she would conclude that her brother hated to deal with Rearden because Rearden did his job with superlative efficiency; but she would not conclude it, because she thought that such a feeling was not within the humanly possible.

were the things that had come to white heat, had melted and fused within him, and their alloy was a strange, quiet feeling that made him smile at the countryside in the darkness and wonder why happiness could hurt.

After a while, he realized that he was thinking of his past, as if certain days of it were spread before him, demanding to be seen again. He did not want to look at them; he despised memories as a pointless indulgence.

he decided that pain was not a valid reason for stopping.

the foot of walls made of empty frames. At a gate in the distance, he saw the black silhouettes of men. They were the unemployed from the rotting hovels of what had once been a prosperous town. They stood silently, looking at the glittering car he had

Whatever it was, he thought, whatever the strain and the agony, they were worth it, because they had made him reach this day—this

People, he thought, were as hungry for a sight of joy as he had always been—for a moment’s relief from that gray load of suffering which seemed so inexplicable and unnecessary.

He had never been able to understand why men should be unhappy.

But he did not know, he had never defined, what it was that he wanted them to understand.

“Is it an inferiority complex or a superiority one, Henry? Do you believe that nobody can want to see you just for your own sake, or do you believe that nobody can get along without your help?”

she was smiling at him as if this were merely a conversational joke, and he had no capacity for the sort of conversations which were not supposed to be meant, so he did not answer. He stood looking at her, wondering about the things he had never been able to understand.

Henry has all the makings of a saint. That’s the trouble.”

He despised causeless affection, just as he despised unearned wealth.

They professed to love him for some unknown reason and they ignored all the things for which he could wish to be loved.

He could not condemn them without understanding; and he could not understand.

Did he like them? No, he thought; he had wanted to like them, which was not the same.

“That’s life,” he said. “Damned if I see why. Can you tell me that? What’s wrong with the world?” Larkin shrugged sadly. “Why ask useless questions? How deep is the ocean? How high is the sky? Who is John Galt?”

It would be so easy to squash Philip by returning the insult, he thought—by returning an insult which would be deadly because it would be true—that he could not bring himself to utter it.

something—didn’t I say that happiness is the agent of purification?—I’m

Its output seems to be plentiful and always available on schedule. But who gets the benefit of it? Nobody except its owner. Would you say that that’s fair?” “No,” said Taggart, “it isn’t fair.” “Most of us don’t own

deliver steel, while we have to struggle and wait and lose our customers and go out of business? Is it in the public interest to let one man destroy an entire industry?” “No,” said Taggart, “it isn’t.” “It

Orren,” said Taggart, “you might ask yourself

rest of the boys.” “There ought to be a law against irresponsible gossip,” said Taggart sullenly. “Let’s have another drink.”

indifferent curiosity: “Say, Jim, I meant to ask you, what in hell’s the matter with your train service down on the San Sebastián Line?” “Why, what do you mean? What is

it?” “Well, I don’t know, but running just one passenger

they rose, too, accepting it as a command. Larkin muttered, smiling too strenuously,

feeling for the railroad was the same: worship of the skill that had gone to make it, of the ingenuity of someone’s clean, reasoning mind, worship with a secret smile that said she would know how

the humility had a touch of future pride, a pride to be earned. “You’re unbearably conceited,” was one of the two sentences she heard throughout her childhood, even though she never spoke of her own ability. The other sentence was: “You’re selfish.” She asked what was meant,

The adversary she found herself forced to fight was not worth matching or beating; it was not a superior ability which she would have found honor in challenging; it was ineptitude—a gray spread of cotton that seemed soft and shapeless, that could offer no resistance to anything or anybody, yet managed to be a barrier in her way.

it suddenly easier to concentrate. There was one

all his future years. He saw a head bent over sheets of paper,

of the desk lamp glistening on strands of disheveled hair, a white shirt clinging to her shoulders, its loose folds

“I’m sure they do.” “They need trains!” “For what?” “For…To help

don’t give them transportation?” “I don’t expect them to develop.” “That’s just your

When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind—and it is proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression.”

They used to rush through here, and it was wonderful to watch, it was the hurry of men who knew where they were going and were eager to get there. Now they’re hurrying because they are afraid. It’s not a purpose that drives them, it’s fear. They’re not going anywhere, they’re escaping. And I don’t think they know what it is that they want to escape.

table. “The Rio Norte Line is our last hope,” said Eddie Willers. “But it will save us. We’ll have at least one branch in good condition, where it’s needed most, and that will help to save

door, long after all the others had gone…Yes, she’s gone

There is no necessity for pain—why, then, is the worst pain reserved for those who will not accept its

no sounds of approval, no movement, nothing but a heavy silence. To the last minute, every one of them had hoped that someone would save them from it. The Anti-dog-eat-dog Rule was

“Oh, you damn fool! Don’t you see that that’s what you’re being punished for—because it was good?”

“If that’s the price of getting together, then I’ll be damned if I want to live on the same earth with any human beings! If the rest of them can survive only by destroying us, then why should we wish them to survive? Nothing can make self-immolation proper. Nothing can give them the right to turn men into sacrificial animals. Nothing can make it moral to destroy the best. One can’t be punished for being good. One can’t be penalized for ability. If that is right, then we’d better start slaughtering one another, because there isn’t any right at all in the world!”

“You and I will always be there to save the country from the consequences of their actions.”

“It’s wonderful.” “What?” “The way you don’t react as everybody else does nowadays.”

There’s something worse than stupidity about it.”

it. He was the only man she knew to whom she could speak without strain or effort. This, she thought, was a mind she respected, an adversary worth matching.