She was a defective child-bearing machine. She destroyed herself automatically while giving birth to Dwayne.
My soul seemed a foul as smoke from burning cat fur.
Billy Pilgrim has become unstuck in time.
The book was Maniacs in the Fourth Dimension, by Kilgore Trout. It was about people whose mental diseases couldn't be treated because the causes of the diseases were all in the fourth dimension, and three-dimensional Earthling doctors couldn't see those causes at all, or even imagine them.
I found me a place where I can do good without doing any harm, and I can see I'm doing good, and them I'm doing good for know I'm doing it, and they love me, Unk, as best they can. I found me a home.
A lamb was a young animal which was legendary for sleeping well on the planet Earth.
We are healthy only to the extent that our ideas are humane.
The unity in every second of all time and all wandering mankind, all wandering womankind, all wandering children.
He had a tremendous wang, incidentally. You never know who'll get one.
There was a still life on Billy's bedside table-two pills, an ashtray with three lipstick-stained cigarettes in it, one cigarette still burning, and a glass of water. The water was dead. So it goes. Air was trying to get out of the dead water. Bubbles were clinging to the walls of the glass, too weak to climb out.
The surface of Earth heaved and seethed in fecund restlessness. Earth was most fertile where the most death was.
Honest to God, Bill, the way things are going, all I can think of is that I'm a character in a book by somebody who wants to write about somebody who suffers all the time.
I do not say that children at war do not die like men, if they have to die. To their everlasting honor and our everlasting shame, they do die like men, thus making possible the manly jubilation of patriotic holidays. But they are murdered children all the same.
Let there be nothing harmonious about our children's playthings, lest they grow up expecting peace and order, and be eaten alive.
Like so many Americans, she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops.
Whereas the staff, of course, was devoted to the idea that weak people should be helped as much as possible, that nobody should die.
So, in the interests of survival, they trained themselves to be agreeing machines instead of thinking machines. All their minds had to do was to discover what other people were thinking, and then they thought that, too.
No damn cat, and no damn cradle.
Billy Pilgrim, there in the creekbed, thought he, Billy Pilgrim, was turning to steam painlessly.
The champagne was dead. So it goes.
I was a victim of a series of accidents, as are we all.
A writer off-guard since the materials with which he works are so dangerous can expect agony as quick as a thunderclap.
A pissant does his best to make you feel like a boob all the time.
The whore, who said her name was Sandra, offered me delights unobtainable outside of Place Pigalle and Port Said. I said I wasn't interested, and she was bright enough to say that she wasn't really interested either. As things turned out, we had both overestimated our apathies, but not by much.
He supposed that they were part of an amazing new phase of World War Two. It was all right with him. Everything was pretty much all right with Billy.
They didn't think it had anything to do with the war. They were sure Billy was going to pieces because his father had thrown him into the deep end of the Y.M.C.A. swimming pool when he was a little boy, and had then taken him to the rim of the Grand Canyon.
The worst thing that could possibly happen to anybody would be to not be used for anything by anybody. Thank you for using me, even though I didn't want to be used by anybody.
I can have oodles of charm when I want to.
I said I wasn't interested, and she was bright enough to say that she wasn't really interested either. As things turned out, we both overestimated our apathies, but not that much.
The hare of history once more overtakes the tortoise of art.
Leo Buscaglia - Shakti Gawain - Mark Twain - Helen Keller - Robert Kiyosaki - Mary Wollstonecraft Shelle - Laura Ingalls Wilder - Jane Roberts - Jackie Collins - Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn