Galápagos

by Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

To the credit of humanity as it used to be: More and more people were saying that their brains were irresponsible, unreliable, hideously dangerous, wholly unrealistic—were simply no damn good.

Question: Who hasn’t lost his or her head in the springtime?

There were exceptions, of course. Those who did reproduce a lot, though, and who might be thought to want so much property for the comfort of their descendants, commonly made psychological cripples of their own children.

For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: “It might have been!”

I didn’t know then what sperm was, and so wouldn’t understand his answer for several years. “My boy,” he said, “you are descended from a long line of determined, resourceful, microscopic tadpoles—champions every one.”

but my brains just haven’t been working right lately. Sometimes I could just kill my brains.”

war, as in love, he was a fearless, happy-go-lucky adventurer.

Imagination is as good as many voyages—and how much cheaper!