There is a tragic flaw in our precious constitution, and I don't know what can be done to fix it. This is it: Only nut cases want to be president.
The primary benefit of practicing any art, whether well or badly, is that it enables one's soul to grow.
When things are going really well, we should take time to notice it.
All people are insane, he said. They will do anything at any time, and God help anybody who looks for reasons.
All’s bad that ends badly, and it’s only the sick-minded who can feed on the past.
As Bokonon says: Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God. The
Das Reich der Zwei, the nation of two my Helga and I had—its territory, the territory we defended so jealously, didn’t go much beyond the bounds of our great double bed. Flat, tufted, springy little c...
Did that really happen? said Maggie White. She was a dull person, but a sensational invitation to make babies. Men looked at her and wanted to fill her up with babies right away. She hadn’t had even o...
If you find your life tangled up with somebody else’s life for no very logical reasons, writes Bokonon, that person may be a member of your karass. At another
Only his dog had been along. Now Winston Niles Rumfoord and his dog Kazak existed as wave phenomena—apparently pulsing in a distorted spiral with its origin in the Sun and its terminal in Betelgeuse.
The hand that stocks the drug stores rules the world. Let us start our Republic with a chain of drug stores, a chain of grocery stores, a chain of gas chambers, and a national game. After that, we can...
Then you’ll do it brilliantly, darling. You’ll get to Pittsburgh yet.
There is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and...
You know what the trouble is with New York? she asked me. No, I said. Nobody here, she said, believes that there is such a thing as innocence.
Talent is extremely common. What is rare is the willingness to endure the life of the writer.
When we passed a Catholic church, I recalled, he said, "You think your dad's a good chemist? They're turning soda crackers into meat in there. Can your dad do that?
The name of the new religion," said Rumfoord, "is The Church of God the Utterly Indifferent.
He was a black hole to anyone who might imagine that he or she was a friend of his.
Why me?- That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?- Yes.- Well, her...
America, wrote Kilgore Trout in MTYOAP: is the interplay of three hundred million Rube Goldberg contraptions invented only yesterday.
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