If my mind-control master had spent less time squatting in lotus and more time in Kenya, his instruction might have been more useful.
No matter how lavishly overpaid, civil servants everywhere are convinced that they are horribly underpaid- but all public employees have larceny in their hearts or they wouldn’t be feeding at the public trough.
Unprofessional. As may be.
…with all governments everywhere tightening down on everything wherever
they can, with their computers and their Public Eyes and ninety-nine other sorts of electronic
surveillance, there is a moral obligation on each free person to fight back wherever possible — keep
underground railways open, keep shades drawn, give misinformation to computers. Computers are
literal-minded and stupid; electronic records aren’t really records … so it is good to be alert to
opportunities to foul up the system. If you can’t evade a tax, pay a little too much to confuse their
computers. Transpose digits. And so on.
“Friday, brainpower is the scarcest commodity and the only one of real value. Any human organization
can be rendered useless, impotent, a danger to itself, by selectively removing its best minds while
carefully leaving the stupid ones in place. It took only a few careful 'accidents' to ruin utterly the great
Prussian military machine and turn it into a blundering mob. But this did not show until the fighting was
well under way, because stupid fools look just as good as military geniuses until the fighting starts.”
Where can you have more fun in forty minutes with your clothes on?
The following week I went back to work, both sad and warmly happy. For the next seventeen years I
would be paying NZ$858.13 per month, or I could pay it faster. For what? I could not live at home until
it was all paid because I had to keep my job to meet those monthly payments. For what, then? Not for
sex. As I told Captain Tormey, sex is everywhere; it’s silly to pay for it. For the privilege of getting my
hands into soapy dishwater, I guess. For the privilege of rolling around on the floor and being peed on
by puppies and babies only nominally housebroken.
For the warm knowledge that, wherever I was, there was a place on this planet where I could do these
things as a matter of right, because I belonged.
Geniuses and supergeniuses always make their own rules on sex as on everything else; they do not accept the monkey customs of their lessers.
Boss, killing a rat is no problem. Stuff it into a sack. Beat the sack with an ax. Then shoot it. Then drown it. Burn the sack with the dead rat in it. Meanwhile its mate has raised another litter of pups and you now have a dozen rats to replace it. Boss, all we’ve ever been able to do with rats is fight them to a draw. We never win. If we let up for a moment the rats pull ahead.
…the trouble with “the people’s right to know” is that it strongly resembles the …right” of someone to be a concert pianist… but who does not want to practice.
The coldest depth of Hell is reserved for people who abandon kittens.
Will somebody explain males to me? With diagrams and short words?
You’re not a stranger; you’re an old friend we haven’t known very long.
Autobiography is usually honest but it is never truthful.
I don’t see anything wrong with crying; it lubricates the psyche.