Mercerism is a swindle.′ The whole experience of empathy is a swindle.
In other words, the universe itself – and the Mind behind it – is insane. Therefore someone in touch with reality is, by definition, in touch with the insane: infused by the irrational.
Palmer Eldritch had gone to Prox a man and returned a god.
I did not find God in the Prox system. But I found something better. God promises eternal life. I can do better; I can deliver it.
For them, winter had come.
No,” Rick said. “I can’t understand that. I need help.” “How can I save you,” the old man said, “if I can’t save myself?” He smiled. “Don’t you see? There is no salvation.” “Then what’s this for?” Rick demanded. “What are you for?” “To show you,” Wilbur Mercer said, “that you aren’t alone. I am here with you and always will be. Go and do your task, even though you know it’s wrong.” “Why?” Rick said. “Why should I do it? I’ll quit my job and emigrate.
Once, he thought, I would have seen the stars. Years ago. But now it’s only the dust; no one has seen a star in years, at least not from Earth. Maybe I’ll go where I can see stars, he said to himself as the car gained velocity and altitude; it headed away from San Francisco, toward the uninhabited desolation to the north. To the place where no living thing would go. Not unless it felt that the end had come.
You will have to stop searching for me because l will never stop searching for you.
He sighed, defeated by her threat. “I’ll dial what’s on my schedule for today.” Examining the schedule for January 3, 2021, he saw that a businesslike professional attitude was called for. “If I dial by schedule,” he said warily, “will you agree to also?” He waited, canny enough not to commit himself until his wife had agreed to follow suit.
My schedule for today lists a six-hour self-accusatory depression,” Iran said. “What? Why did you schedule that?” It defeated the whole purpose of the mood organ. “I didn’t even know you could set it for that,” he said gloomily.
You’re not going to be able to hunt androids any longer,” she said calmly. “So don’t look sad. Please.
You think I’m suffering because I’m lonely.
I’m sorry, she thought. But she said nothing. I can’t save you or anybody else from being dark.
This guy – Joe whatever – hasn’t even got the right expression on his face; he should have that cold but somehow enthusiastic look, as if he believed in nothing and yet somehow had absolute faith. Yes, that’s how they are. They’re not idealists like Joe and me; they’re cynics with utter faith.
I will be at loose ends without a countryman to talk to.” “I’m not a countryman of yours,” Baynes said. “Oh, yes; that’s so. But racially, you’re quite close. For all intents and purposes the same.
Rick said, “I’ll find out from Harry Bryant.” He felt irritable; office gossip annoyed him because it always proved better than the truth.
The hallmark of the fraudulent is that it becomes what you would like it to be.
Art, like theology, a packaged fraud.
If you intend to kill yourself you don’t require a reason, in the usual sense of the term; just as, to contrary, when you intend to stay alive, no verbal, articulated, formal reason is necessary, one you can seize on if the issue comes up.
I don’t believe in God,” Kevin said. “I believe in the Great Punta. And the ways of the Great Punta are mysterious. No one knows why he does what he does, or doesn’t do.” “Are you kidding me?” “No,” Kevin said. “Where did the Great Punta come from?” “Only the Great Punta knows.
To be reborn again, as the Tibetan Book of the Dead says. It really is true. Christ, I hope so. Because in that case we all can meet again. In, as in Winnie-the-Pooh, another part of the forest, where a boy and his bear will always be playing... a category, he thought, imperishable. Like all of us. We will all wind up with Pooh, in a clearer, more durable new place.