I sometimes wondered what the use of any of thewas. The best thing I could come up with was what I call the of the arts. This theory says that artists are useful tobecause they are so sensitive. They are super-sensitive. They keel over like canaries in poison coal mines long before more robust types realize that there is anywhatsoever. .
I was taught in the sixth grade that we had a standing army of just over a hundred thousand men and that the generals had nothing to say about what was done in Washington. I was taught to be proud of that and to pity Europe for having more than a million men under arms and spending all theiron airplanes and tanks. I simply never unlearned junior civics. I stillin it. I got a very good grade. .
Well, I've worried some about, you know, why write... why are we teaching people to write books when presidents and senators do notthem, and generals do not read them. And it's been the university experience that taught me that there is a veryreason, that you catch people before they become generals and presidents and so forth and youtheirwith ... , and however you want to poison their minds, it's presumably to encourage them to make a better . .
You learn aboutby the accidents you have, over and over again, and your father is always in your head when that stuff happens. Writing, most of the time, for most people, is an accident and your father is there for that, too. You know, I taughtfor a while and whenever somebody would tell me they were going to write about their dad, I would tell them they might as well go write about killing puppies because neither story was going to work. It just doesn't work. Your father won't let it happen. .
One of the great American tragedies is to have participated in a just . It's been possible for politicians and movie-makers to encourage us we're alwaysguys. The Second World War absolutely had to be fought. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. But we never talk about thewe kill. This is never spoken of. .
I have wanted to give Iraq a lesson in— because we’re experienced with it, you know. And, in democracy, after a hundred years, you have to let yourgo. And, after a hundred and fifty years, you have to let yourvote. And, at theof democracy, is that quite a bit of genocide and ethnic cleansing is quite okay. And that’s what’s going on now. .
I do feel thatis being controlled by some sort of divine engineer. I can't help thinking that. And this engineer knows exactly what he or she is doing and why, and where evolution is headed. That’s why we’ve got giraffes and hippopotami and the clap. .
[When Vonnegut tells his wife he's going out to buy an envelope] Oh, she says, well, you're not a poor man. You know, why don't you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet? And so I pretend not to hear her. And go out to get an envelope because I'm going to have a hell of a in the process of buying one envelope. I meet a lot of . And, see some great looking babes. And a fire engine goes by. And I give them the thumbs up. And, and ask awhat kind ofthat is. And, and I don't know. The moral of the story is, is we're here onto fart around. And, of course, thewill do us out of that. And, what the computer people don't realize, or they don't care, is we're dancing . You know, weto move around. And, we're not supposed toat all anymore. .
During the , in hundreds of Iliums over America,andlearned to get along without their men and women, who went to fight. It was thethat won the war — production with almost no manpower. In the patois of the north side of the river, it was the know-how that won the war.owed itsto know-how. .
"You think I'm insane?" said Finnerty. Apparently he wanted more of a reaction than Paul had given him. "You're still in touch. I guess that's the test." "Barely — barely." "A psychiatrist could help. There's a good man in Albany." Finnerty shook his head. "He'd pull me back into the center, and I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center." He nodded, "Big, undreamed-of things — theon the edge see them first." .
"Strange business," said Lasher. "This crusading spirit of theand engineers, the idea of designing and manufacturing and distributing being sort of a holy war: all that folklore was cooked up by public relations and advertising men hired by managers and engineers to make big business popular in the old days, which it certainly wasn't in the beginning. Now, the engineers and managers believe with all theirthe glorious things their forebears hired people to say about them. Yesterday's snow job becomes today's sermon." .
Here it was again, the most ancient of roadforks, one that Paul had glimpsed before, in Kroner's study, months ago. The choice of one course or the other had nothing to do with machines, hierarchies, economics, love, age. It was a purely internal matter. Every child older than six knew the fork, and knew what the good guys did here, and what the bad guys did here. The fork was a familiar one in folk tales the world over, and the good guys and the bad guys, whether in chaps, breechclouts, serapes, leopardskins, or banker's gray pinstripes, all separated here.Bad guys turned informer. Good guys didn't — no matter when, no matter what. .
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