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T Quotes

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All T Quotes

“The machines of this place are failing, and the woman and I are here all alone. The perpetual motion engine, as brilliant and beautiful as it is, is running down—nothing lasts forever. But before this little world falls out of the sky there still might be time enough for redemption. There is still time for me to say the words that I should have had the courage to say at the beginning. There is still time, perhaps, for one more miracle. Hello, Miranda.”

“The machines that are first invented to perform any particular movement are always the most complex, and succeeding artists generally discover that, with fewer wheels, with fewer principles of motion, than had originally been employed, the same effects may be more easily produced. The first systems, in the same manner, are always the most complex.”

“The machines will paint better pictures, write better reports, solve harder problems. Let them. Our work lies elsewhere: in choosing what to cherish, whom to become, and which impossible things to attempt—because attempting them is part of what we're here to do.”

“The Mackenzie had never met folk so poor in story and song and legends, and it moved him to a pity that pricked at his eyes. Without that tapestry of colour and words and ritual, what was life but eating and mating, sleeping and moving your bowels? All of them good and necessary, but not enough; and they themselves needed that framework too, to give them meaning.”

“The Mad Room It’s where I go when I’ve lost my temper, my mind on fire, no way around or out of the chair on the dirt floor in the cellar. I’m not one to give into her pressure, as corporal punishment is all it’s about. It’s where I go when I’ve lost my temper. Why does it seem she relishes trouble? The soap in my mouth, the foamy shout, only the hard chair hears my whimper. It’s where I go when I’ve lost my temper. The bare light bulb hums, little doubt I will die alone, kids the curious spider. My bottled-up scream, I can never tell her comes from the fear of living without her love, not from her duty as a mother. The room closes in, but I don’t bother to move an inch. Everything is silent except the hiss of pipes, an angry mother. It’s where I go when I’ve lost my temper.”

“The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. 'Where is God?' he cried; 'I'll tell you! We have killed him—you and I! We are all his murderers. But how did we do this? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Where is it moving to now? Where are we moving to? Away from all suns? Are we not continually falling? And backwards, sidewards, forwards, in all directions? Is there still an up and a down? Aren't we straying as though through an infinite nothing? Isn't empty space breathing at us? Hasn't it got colder? Isn't night and more night coming again and again? Don't lanterns have to be lit in the morning? Do we still hear nothing of the noise of the grave-diggers who are burying God? Do we still smell nothing of the divine decomposition?—Gods, too, decompose! God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him! How can we console ourselves, the murderers of all murderersl The holiest and the mightiest thing the world has ever possessed has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood from us? With what water could we clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what holy games will we have to invent for ourselves? Is the magnitude of this deed not too great for us? Do we not ourselves have to become gods merely to appear worthy of it?”