Novelists From The United States

"The new city of Esmeralda was not the usual steel-and-glass rabbit warren that the modern world had developed in its long struggle to free itself from any hint of good taste."

"“This is a shopping mall,” the Professor said. “At one time it was the central artifact of American life. It was to the Americans what the atrium was to the Romans or the plaza to the Spaniards, the great place of assemblage where one comes and ritually buys food and tries to arrange romantic assignations with attractive members of the preferred sex, whichever that might be.”"

"Nobody says any longer, “When will the killing stop?” Now we know that the killing will stop only when life itself stops."

"After many centuries we have rediscovered nature’s way of keeping populations in hand. Nature does it the old-fashioned way, by killing people."

"“Could he be an imposter?” the venerable priest mused. “No, I suppose not. So he must be from some other universe. That’s the usual explanation for the inexplicable.”"

""We have sympathized with the misplaced obsessive emotionality you have thrown into your delusional activities.” “What do you mean, ‘delusional’? I know what I’m doing!” The priest shook his head gently. “Whatever you think is wrong. I suppose you feel that you live your own life and strive to achieve your goals?” “Well, of course!” “But that is not the case at all. Actually, you have no independent life of your own. You do not live, you are lived! You are a completely automatic mechanism with a built-in I-reflex. Your life has no meaning, since you are not even a person. You are nothing more than a short-lived, inconsistent, and accidental collection of tendencies. Your only possible relevance is as the unwitting vehicle for the purpose of bringing forth the Avatar.”"

"He said, “Don’t you think that pleas based on upon the assumption of one’s own objectivity are somewhat disingenuous, to say the least?” The crowd nodded. The tall man said easily, “Granted that all personal judgments are inherently biased. Still, judgment is the only instrument of discrimination at our disposal, and it is our work as living, developing creatures to make discriminations, from which value-judgments inevitably flow. This must be done despite the subjectivity paradox implied in making an ‘objective’ statement. That is why I say unequivocably that you were in the wrong, and no amount of reference to the observer observed dichotomy is going to change that.”"

"It wouldn’t be so bad. There was, after all, a certain joy in hard, dedicated work, a sort of pleasure in denying oneself pleasures, and a sour happiness to be found in steadiness, circumspection, dependability… To hell with that!"

"Words, in the final analysis, are just about as futile as actions, and much less fun."

"But the description is not the described, as Amirra Tauba remarked as he chewed up the map of the galaxy!"

"Not even the thought of death can upset the man who is going into space for the first time. The journey into the unknown transcends the framework of anxiety, at least for a while."

"Blount’s face registered psychopathic amazement, idiot incredulity, moronic disbelief."

"People who live in glass psyches shouldn’t cast words."

"Like the man who set fire to his friend’s overcoat upon hearing the command, “Light up a Chesterfield.”"

"Mishkin saw a tape recorder on stilts. He went over and turned it on. The recorder said: “This is a recorded message to remind you not to forget to record a message to remind you not to forget.”"

"I used to be afraid that I was going out of my mind. Now I am afraid that I am not going out of my mind."

"If you don’t dig chromosome damage buy better chromosomes."

"“But I was just about to explain,” Mishkin said. “Never explain anything,” the robot told him. “Avoid bummers. Don’t go on other peoples trips.” “What is my trip?” Mishkin asked. “That would be telling,” said the robot."

"“If they worked governments on earth like you run a ship it’d be clear sailing for the human race.” “None of that, now,” the captain said with gruff, old-fashioned modesty. “I just follow the rules, use plain common sense, temper justice with mercy, and treat every person as an entire world-system and end unto himself despite social differences imposed by a functional ranking system.”"

"You must not live as though your life were a preparation for a living. Preparation is an illusion. What you thought you were preparing for is what you are doing right now, which is preparing."

"The robot children said, “Sure, Grandfather,” and went away laughing behind his back. They were smooth and sharp and bright, and they thought that they were the only ones who had ever been modern, and it never occurred to them that others had been so before them and that others would be so after them. And if they had been told that someday they would be put back on the shelf with other pieces of discarded merchandise they would have laughed all the harder. That is the way of young robots and no amount of programming seems able to change it."

"“That sounds simple enough,” Mishkin said. “It is, theoretically.” “But practically?” “There are always complications.” “Such as?” “If we knew that,” the computer told him, “the complications wouldn’t be very complicated, would they?”"

"“Your predator is close behind you and will infallibly be your death.” “I don’t doubt it,” Carmody said, in a moment of strange calm.” But in terms of long-range planning, I never did expect to get out of this Universe alive.” “That is meaningless,” the Prize said. “The fact is, you have lost everything.” “I don’t agree,” Carmody said. “Permit me to point out that I am presently still alive.” “Agreed. But only for the moment.” “I have always been alive only for the moment,” Carmody said. “I could never count on more. It was my error to expect more. That holds true, I believe, for all of my possible and potential circumstances.” “Then what do you hope to achieve with your moment?” “Nothing,” Carmody said. “Everything.” “I don’t understand you any longer,” the Prize said. “Something about you has changed, Carmody. What is it?” “A minor thing,” Carmody told him. “I have simply given up a longevity which I never possessed anyhow. I have turned away from the con game which the Gods run in their heavenly sideshow. I no longer care under which shell the pea of immortality might be found. I don’t need it. I have my moment, which is quite enough.” “Saint Carmody,” the Prize said, in tones of deepest sarcasm. “No more than a shadow’s breadth separates you and death! What will you do now with your pitiable moment?” “I shall continue to live it,” Carmody said. “That is what moments are for.”"

"Once upon a time men resisted the implications of actuality. That day is gone. We know now that art is the thing itself together with its extensions into superfluity. Not pop art, I hasten to say, which sneers and exaggerates. This is popular art, which simply exists. This is the age in which we unconditionally accept the unacceptable, and thus proclaim the naturalness of our artificiality.”"

"Remember, similitude need not imply exactitude."

"“Isn’t there anything you can do about the predator?” Carmody asked. “Nothing. Nor would I if I could. Predation is a necessary circumstance. Even the Gods are eventually eaten by Fate. You will not be an exception to the universal rule.”"

"“You want me to tell you why reality is the way it is,” Seethwright said. “But there is no explanation for that. You must simply learn to fit your preconceptions to what you find. You must not expect reality to adapt itself to you, except very infrequently."

"How nicely you put it! We may rant against fortune and the world, but we are left at the end with the stark proposition: “These are the things which are.”"

"“It is the principle of Business, which is more fundamental than the law of gravity. Wherever you go in the galaxy, you can find a food business, a housebuilding business, a war business, a peace business, a governing business, and so forth. And, of course, a God business, which is called ‘religion,’ and which is a particularly reprehensible line of endeavor. I could talk for a year on the perverse and nasty notions that the religions sell, but I’m sure you’ve heard it all before. But I’ll just mention one matter, which seems to underlie everything the religions preach, and which seems to me almost exquisitely perverse.” “What’s that?” Carmody asked. “It’s the deep, fundamental bedrock of hypocrisy upon which religion is founded. Consider: no creature can be said to worship if it does not possess free will. Free will, however, is free. And just by virtue of being free, is intractable and incalculable, a truly Godlike gift, the faculty that makes a state of freedom possible. To exist in a state of freedom is a wild, strange thing, and was clearly intended as such. But what do the religions do with this? They say, ‘Very well, you possess free will; but now you must use your free will to enslave yourself to God and to us.’ The effrontery of it! God, who would not coerce a fly, is painted as a supreme slavemaster! In the face of this, any creature with spirit must rebel, must serve God entirely of his own will and volition, or must not serve him at all, thus remaining true to himself and to the faculties God has given him.” “I think I see what you mean,” Carmody said. “I’ve made it too complicated,” Maudsley said. “There’s a much simpler reason for avoiding religion.” “What’s that?” “Just consider its style—bombastic, hortatory, sickly-sweet, patronizing, artificial, inapropos, boring, filled with dreary images or peppy slogans—fit subject matter for senile old women and unweaned babies, but for no one else. I cannot believe that the God I met here would ever enter a church; he had too much taste and ferocity, too much anger and pride. I can’t believe it, and for me that ends the matter. Why should I go to a place that a God would not enter?”"

"The only thing to think over was Me, of course. And the real problem about Me was, What was I supposed to do? Was I meant to be nothing but God? I had tried the God business and found it too limited. It was a job for a simple-minded egomaniac. There had to be something else for me to do—something more meaningful, more expressive of my true self. I’m convinced of it! That is my problem, and that is the question I ask of you: What am I to do with myself?"

"A little prescience goes a long way, especially in a galaxy as disorganized as this one."

"A malfunction of this type can be cured only by changing the nature of the universe, which is, of course, impractical."

"I’ll follow the reedy tenor of his excuses and blast them with the bellowy bass of irrefutable logic!"

"Carmody’s jaw stiffened and he withdrew his hand. He had been pushed around long enough. Now, for the sake of his own self-esteem, he would not yield any more."

"“Earth, Earth,” the short, alien Carmody mused. “I think I remember the name now. There was a recent study of isolated worlds and the peculiarities of their development. Earth was mentioned as a planet covered with an obsessively overproductive species. Object manipulation is their outstanding modality. Their project is an attempt to live in their own, ever-accumulating waste products. In short, Earth is diseased place. I believe it is being phased out of the Galactic Master Plan on the basis of chronic cosmic incompatibility. The place will then be rehabilitated and turned into a refuge for daffodils.”"

"“Machines!” the Clerk said scornfully. “We have many of them, some exquisitely complex. But event the best of them are much like idiot savants. They do adequately on tedious straightforward tasks like building stars or destroying planets. But give them something tough, like solacing a widow, and they simply go to pieces. Would you believe it, the largest computer in our section can landscape an entire planet; but it cannot fry an egg or carry a tune, and it knows less about ethics than a newborn wolf cub. Would you want something like that to run your life?” “Of course not,” Carmody said. “But couldn’t someone build a machine with creativity and judgment?” “Someone has,” the Clerk said. “It has been designed to learn from experience, which means that it must make errors in order to arrive at truths. It comes in many shapes and sizes, most of them quite portable. Its flaws are readily apparent, but seem to exist as necessary counterweights to it virtues. No one has yet improved on the basic design, though many have tried. This ingenious device is called ‘intelligent life.’”"

"“Well, no sense crying over unspilt blood,” the Prize Clerk said. “If we took full account of our eventualities, we’d soon run out of eventualities for us to take full account of.”"

"He shared the common human hallmark: he was simultaneously predictable and unfathomable—a routine miracle."

"In a way it made no difference, since nothing is permanent except our illusions."

"Last week we revoked his Godhead; we caught him operating a life without a license."

"All men are mortal, he tells us, but some are more mortal than others."

"Ifs and buts could erode the soundest of principles."

"All very unreasonable, but Arthur Gammet was beginning to suspect that most wizards were unreasonable people."

"“Now look,” Janice said. “If the king is so rich, why can’t he pay?” “The king never pays for anything he can get free,” the ferra said. “That’s why he’s so rich.”"

"“What kind of intelligent beings would evolve on a planet that is all mountains?” “Stupid ones!” Casker said."

"Paradox is the inevitable forerunner of chaos."

"This planet’s secret menace was—freedom!"

"I’ve heard that some of the larger spiders hunt songbirds. I have no objection to that. The spiders belong here, too. Let nature do what it needs to do. We who are people know more than to guide ourselves by nature’s practices."

"When the people have to leave a place, their dreams leave first."

"“The last cigarette is a sort of souvenir and something to remember Earth by. It's the perfect symbol of men's greatest invention.” “And what would that be?” “Something desirable that's not good for you.”"