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She was a fool, and so am I, and so is anyone who thinks he sees what God is Doing,
‘Why should I bother with made-up games when there are so many real ones going on?’
People weren’t his specialty.
There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look. I am proof of that.”
She said Americans were too materialistic. She said she wanted to go back home.
Sad
“The trouble with the world was,” she continued hesitatingly, “that people were still superstitious instead of scientific. He said if everybody would study science more, there wouldn’t be all the trouble there was.”
“He said science was going to discover the basic secret of life someday,”
anything a scientist worked on was sure to wind up as a weapon, one way or another.
“The mind reels,” I said.
“And that was why she died when little Newt was born.”
Brutal
She hated people who thought too much. At that moment, she struck me as an appropriate representative for almost all mankind.
Research means look again, don’t it?
“Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.”
Busy, busy, busy, is what we Bokononists whisper whenever we think of how complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is. But all I could say as a Christian then was, “Life is sure funny sometimes.” “And sometimes it isn’t,” said Marvin Breed.
She could play every musical instrument there was. I fell so hard for her I gave up football and tried to play the violin.
“but how the hell innocent is a man who helps make a thing like an atomic bomb? And how can you say a man had a good mind when he couldn’t even bother to do anything when the best-hearted, most beautiful woman in the world, his own wife, was dying for lack of love and understanding
Sometimes I think that’s the trouble with the world: too many people in high places who are stone-cold dead.”
I repaired there for a drink.
Repaired
‘Americans,’” he said, quoting his wife’s letter to the Times, “ ‘are forever searching for love in forms it never takes, in places it can never be. It must have something to do with the vanished frontier.’”
Midgets are, after all, diversions for silly or quiet times,
ONCE ANGELA HAD OPENED her plastic accordion, she was reluctant to close it until someone had looked at every photograph. “There are the people I love,” she declared.
Me core
tries to make self ugly in order to stop being erotic symbol to islanders,
I showed this index entry to the Mintons, asking them if they didn’t think it was an enchanting biography in itself, a biography of a reluctant goddess of love.
“He’s obviously in love with this Mona Aamons Monzano,” she said. “That’s true of every man in San Lorenzo I gather.” “He has mixed feelings about his father,” she said. “That’s true of every man on earth.” I egged her on gently. “He’s insecure.” “What mortal isn’t?”
Crosby was in his cups
“I remember an editorial about how maybe the dancer was a spy.”
Hm?
Death, if there was going to be death, did not alarm her.
We Bokononists believe that it is impossible to be sole-to-sole with another person without loving the person, provided the feet of both persons are clean and nicely tended.
“Self-taught, are you?” Julian Castle asked Newt. “Isn’t everybody?” Newt inquired.
Such music from such a woman could only be a case of schizophrenia or demonic possession.
And yet, the one woman who made me groan involuntarily did no more than remove her sandals.
I will do anything to make a human being feel better, even if it’s unscientific. No scientist worthy of the name could say such a thing.”
“The only way I can feel the least bit important is to think of all the mud that didn’t even get to sit up and look around.”
“Do writers have a right to strike? That would be like the police or the firemen walking out.”
