Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.
Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is.
Some persons seem to like you, and others seem to hate you, and you must wonder why. They are simply liking machines and hating machines.
Nothing is generous. New knowledge is a valuable commodity. The more truth we have to work with, the richer we are.
Billy was guided by dread and the lack of dread. Dread told him when to stop. Lack of it told him when to move again.
The city was blacked out because bombers might come, so Billy didn't get to see Dresden do one of the most cheerful things a city can do when the sun goes down, which is to wink its lights on one by one.
In short, on the basis of horse sense and the best scientific information, there was nothing good to be said for the exploration of space. The time was long past when one nation could seem more glorious than another by hurling some heavy object into nothingness.
As for myself: I had come to the conclusion that there was nothing sacred about myself or any human being, that we were all machines, doomed to collide and collide and collide. For want of anything better to do, we became fans of collisions. Sometimes I wrote well about collisions, which meant I was a writing machine in good repair. Sometimes I wrote badly, which meant I was a writing machine in bad repair. I no more harbored sacredness than did a Pontiac, a mousetrap, or a South Bend Lathe.
And we all vied, in saving face, to be the greatest student of human nature, the person with the quickest sense of humor.
There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look.
Human beings in there took turns standing or lying down. The legs of those who stood were like fence posts driven into a warm, squirming, farting, sighing earth. The queer earth was a mosaic of sleepers who nestled like spoons.
They do not love one another because they do not love themselves.
There is no reason why good cannot triumph as often as evil. The triumph of anything is a matter of organization. If there are such things as angels, I hope that they are organized along the lines of the Mafia.
I have no culture, no humane harmony in my brains. I can't live without a culture anymore.
If I were a younger man, I would write a history of human stupidity; and I would climb to the top of Mount McCabe and lie down on my back with my history for a pillow; and I would take from the ground some of the blue-white poison that makes statues of men; and I would make a statue of myself, lying on my back, grinning horribly, and thumbing my nose at You Know Who.
The New York Daily News suggested that my biggest war crime was not killing myself like a gentleman. Presumably Hitler was a gentleman.
No art is possible without a dance with death, he wrote.
A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.
Sometimes I wonder about the Creator of the Universe.
On the day they dropped the bomb Frank had a tablespoon and a Mason jar. What he was doing was spooning different kinds of bugs into the jar and making them fight....I can remember other bug fights we staged later on...They won't fight unless you keep shaking the jar.
Billy's smile as he came out of the shrubbery was at least as peculiar as Mona Lisa's, for he was simultaneously on foot in Germany in 1944 and riding his Cadillac in 1967.
The dog, who had sounded so ferocious in the winter distances, was a female German Shepherd. She was shivering. Her tail was between her legs. She had been borrowed that morning from a farmer. She had never been to war before. She had no idea what game was being played. Her name was Princess.
It is always pitiful when any human being falls into a condition hardly more respectable than that of an animal. How much more pitiful it is when the person who falls has had all the advantages!
Charm was a scheme for making strangers like and trust a person immediately, no matter what the charmer had in mind.
Any man can call time out but no man can say how long the time will be out.
We'd all do well to start over again, preferably with kindergarten.
I am a Tralfamadorian, seeing all time as you might see a stretch of the Rocky Mountains. All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is.
This couple, so involved with babies, had never reproduced themselves, though they could have. This was an interesting comment on the whole idea of reproduction.
There was no question about it- the girl in the photograph was staggeringly beautiful. She was Miss Canal Zone, a runner-up in the Miss Universe Contest -- and in fact far more beautiful than the winner of the contests. Her beauty had frightened the judges.
Ideas on earth were badges of friendship or enimity. Their content did not matter. Friends agreed with friends, in order to express friendliness. Enemies disagreed with enemies, in order to express enimity.
Malcolm Gladwell - Shakti Gawain - C. S. Lewis - Mary Wollstonecraft Shelle - Laura Ingalls Wilder - Joseph Campbell - James Allen - Ian Fleming - Horatio Alger - Alvin Toffler