He was seemingly born not only with a gift for language, but with a particularly nasty clock which makes him go crazy every three years or so. Beware of gods bearing gifts! Before he went to sleep the other night, he said that he could not help being what he was, for good or ill, that he was that sort of molecule. Until the Great Atom Smasher comes to get me, Rabo, he said, this is the kind of molecule I have to be. And what is literature, Rabo, he said but an insiders newsletter about the affairs relating to molecules, of no importance to anything in the Universe but a few molecules who have the disease called thought. -Kurt Vonnegut, Bluebeard
Posted on: Fri, 30 May 2014 04:20:20 +0000
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