Ah, God, what an ugly city Ilium is!
'Ah, God,' says Bokonon, 'what an ugly city every city is!'
Sleet was falling through a motionless blanket of smog. It was early morning. I was riding in the Lincoln sedan of Dr. Asa Breed. I was vaguely ill, still a little drunk from the night before. Dr. Breed was driving. Tracks of a long-abandoned trolley system kept catching the wheels of his car.
Breed was a pink old man, very prosperous, beautifully dressed. His manner was civilized, optimistic, capable. I, by contrast, felt bristly, diseased, cynical. I had spent the night with Sandra.
My soul seemed as foul as smoke from burning cat fur.
Tag: ugliness
The crowd, having been promised nothing, felt cheated, having received nothing.
Kurt Vonnegut Jr.A bald man made an attempt on Constant's life with a hot dog. Stabbed at the window glass with it. Splayed the bun. Broke the frankfurter. Left a sickly sunburst of mustard and relish.
Kurt Vonnegut Jr.Moderate giftedness has been made worthless by the printing press and radio and television and satellites and all that. A moderately gifted person who would have been a community treasure a thousand years ago has to give up, has to go into some other line of work, since modern communications put him or her into daily competition with nothing but the world's champions.
Kurt Vonnegut Jr.Tag: television community treasure competition modern giftedness champions satellite printing-press
Dr. Breed was mistaken about at least one thing: there was such a thing as ice-nice.
Kurt Vonnegut Jr.When I used to teach creative writing, I would tell the students to make their characters want something right away - even if it's only a glass of water. Characters paralyzed by the meaninglessness of modern life still have to drink water from time to time.
Kurt Vonnegut Jr.Tag: life writing write characters water modern-life creative-writing meaninglessness meaningless paralyzed
Maturity, Bokonon tells us, is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists
Kurt Vonnegut Jr.The painter's face curdled with scorn "You think I'm proud of this daub?" he said. "You think this is my idea of what life looks like?"
"What's your idea of what life looks like?" said the orderly.
The painter gestured at a foul dropcloth. "There's a good picture of it," he said. "Frame that, and you'll have a picture a damn sight more honest than this one.
And Castle nodded sagely. 'So this is a picture of the meaninglessness of it all! I couldn't agree more.'
'Do you really agree?' I asked. 'A minute ago you said something about Jesus.'
'Who?' said Castle.
'Jesus Christ?'
'Oh,' said Castle. 'Him.' He shrugged. 'People have to talk about something just to keep their voice boxes in working order, so they'll have good voice boxes in case there's ever anything really meaningful to say.'
'I see.' I knew I wasn't going to have an easy time writing a popular article about him. I was going to have to concentrate on his saintly deeds and ignore entirely the satanic things he thought and said.
Tag: jesus-christ
This is something about your father?'
'This is something about you." Frank put his hand on my shoulder and he looked me in the eye. The effect was dismaying. Frank meant to inspire camaraderie, but his head looked to me like a bizarre little owl, blinded by light and perched on a tall white post.
'Maybe you'd better come to the point.
Tag: awkwardness
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