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I think the only difference between the cell I was shown into and my own apartment was the steel door and the fact that only the ceiling was decorated, with stunningly lovely mosaic.
Why can’t human beings be more like chemicals? In an alchemical experiment you add X scruples of A to Y drams of B and stir slowly over a gentle heat, next thing you know you’ve got what you want, predictably and reliably.
Always, says the book, give the enemy what he wants, within reason.
“Once upon a time,” I told her, “the lions declared war on the earthworms. Everyone was sure the lions would win, but the worms were clever. They dug deep holes in the ground so the lions couldn’t get at them. Then, at night when the lions were asleep, they came back up, crawled in through the lions’ ears and ate their brains.
As a wise man once said, when you have them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.
I drew a long breath so I could point out to her all the fallacies in her argument, but then I thought; why? Out of an overwhelming duty to the truth? Fuck, as I may have observed before, the truth. If it was here, would it go out of its way to defend me? Unlikely. The truth is utterly selfish and doesn’t give a damn about anyone else. Serving the truth is like serving the empire. Nobody thanks you for it and you die poor.
All living things change or else they die, and why should the truth be any different?
She gave me the sort of scowl that’s guaranteed to shift stubborn verdigris off copper.
“According to orthodox doctrine, you need three major miracles to qualify as a recognised prophet. Two only makes you especially blessed of God. One miracle and you’re just another smartarse.
