23 may. 2015

Mi Subrayados


-The Drowned World por J. G. Ballard


Let me speak your name and in speaking let me sing, a secret melody whose notes rise like birds and fall into your ears, to turn you toward me, with a smile that anticipates your own hidden song that choruses with my name. Let me speak your name so I may hear my name spoken to me from you. You cannot imagine the sensuousness of speech, you who have spoken all your life, you who have mouthed words like bread, a staff of life common on your tongue. You cannot appreciate the luxury speech represents to those of us who have no time for it, we who speed our words, transmitting mind to mind without mediation, not even the briefest pause between mind and mouth to temper what we say or to soften sharp
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individual life is misleading. Each one of us is as old as the entire biological kingdom, and our bloodstreams are tributaries of the great sea of its total memory. The uterine odyssey of the growing foetus recapitulates the entire evolutionary past, and its central nervous system is a coded time scale, each nexus of neurones and each spinal level marking a symbolic station, a unit of neuronictime.
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His unconscious was rapidly becoming a well-stocked pantheon of tutelary phobias and obsessions, homing on to his already over-burdened psyche like lost telepaths.
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(Logically—for what had a more gloomy prognosis than life?—)
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Phantoms slid imperceptibly from nightmare to reality and back again, the terrestrial and psychic landscapes were now indistinguishable, as they had been at Hiroshima and Auschwitz, Golgotha and Gomorrah.
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Although the apartment was beginning to look ramshackle and untidy, Beatrice continued to tend her own appearance devotedly. On the few occasions when Kerans called she would be sitting on the patio or before a mirror in her bedroom, automatically applying endless layers of patina, like a blind painter forever retouching a portrait he can barely remember for fear that otherwise he will forget it completely. Her hair was always dressed immaculately, the make-up on her mouth and eyes exquisitely applied, but her withdrawn, isolated gaze gave her the waxen, glace beauty of an inanimate mannequin. At last, however, she had been roused.
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The Number of the Beast por Robert Heinlein.

—“Women are like spiders, they sit there watching you and knitting their webs”
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You don’t talk if you know tango.
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(Why do I get these attacks of honesty? I’ve never done anything to deserve them.)
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This Universe never did make sense; I suspect that it was built on government contract.
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Deety darling, keep him on a short leash and don’t feed him meat. But marry him-
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I have no precognition for harmless events. But this split-second knowledge when I need it has kept me alive and relatively unscarred in an era when homicide kills more people than does cancer and the favorite form of suicide is to take a rifle up some tower and keep shooting until the riot squad settles it.
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You always did have a wise head, Deety. Women are toughminded, men are not; we have to protect them… while pretending to be fragile ourselves, to build up their fragile egos. But I’ve never been good at it-I like to play with matches.”
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"First secret of living with a man: Feed him as soon as he wakes.”
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Some people go to church to talk to God, Whoever He is. When I have something on my mind, I talk to Jane. I don’t hear “voices,” but the answers that, come into my mind have as much claim to infallibility, it seems to me, as any handed down by any Pope speaking ex cathedra. If this be blasphemy, make the most of it; I won’t budge. Jane is, was, and ever shall be, worlds without end. I had the priceless privilege of living with her for eighteen years and I can never lose her.
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Deety, never encourage a man to cook breakfast; it causes him to wonder if women are necessary. If you always get his breakfast and don’t raise controversial issues until after his second cup of coffee, you can get away with murder the rest of the time. They don’t notice other odors when they smell bacon.
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“That’s right, dear. Never tell a man anything he doesn’t need to know, and lie with a straight face rather than hurt his feelings or diminish his pride.”
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“No philosopher allows his opinions to be swayed by facts-he would be kicked out of his guild. Theologians, the lot of them.”
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I will not spank a pregnant woman. But I can think about it.
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What better time to drink life to the dregs than when we know that any hour may be our last?”
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A dead person’s clothes should be given away or burned; nothing should be kept that does not inspire happy memories.
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Let us all preserve our illusions; it lubricates social relations.
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‘A man who bets on greed and dishonesty won’t be wrong too often.’
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(I never enjoy looking at my wife quite so much as when she lights up and is suddenly a little girl.)
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I’ve decided to stay grown up. It’s not easy. But it’s more satisfying. An adult doesn’t panic at a snake; she just checks to see if it’s got rattles.
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cops and courts no longer protect citizens, so citizens must protect themselves.”
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“Wouldn’t that be sump’n? No, for mechanical reasons I think they take turns. Whether ten minutes apart or ten years, deponent sayeth not. But I’d give a pretty to see two of ‘em going to it!” “Sharpie, you’ve got a one-track mind.” “It’s the main track. Reproduction is the main track; the methods and mores of sexual copulation are the central feature of all higher developments of life.” “You’re ignoring money and television.” “Piffle! All human activities including scientific research are either mating dances and care of the young, or the dismal sublimations of born losers in the only game in town.
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“Logic is an organized way of going wrong with confidence.”
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You smell yummy and should marinate another week. It’s not your cortex or your character I love but your carcass-delectable! If it weren’t for these seat belts, it would be rape, rape, rape, all the way to the ground. Actually you’re sort o’ stupid-but what a chassis!”
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never monkey with a system that is working well enough-First Corollary of Murphy’s Law.
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Sharpie said, “I have a suggestion, Cap’n Zebbie.” “Science Officer, I like your suggestions.” “You won’t like this one. When all else fails, tell the truth.”
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“You’re a smart girl, Gay.” “Then why am I pushing this baby carriage?”
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(Why do women have this compulsion to confess? It is not a typical male Vice.)
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People who pass up temptations have only themselves to blame.
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Jane taught me that the only important rule is not to hurt people… which very often-Jane’s words!-consists in not talking unnecessarily.”
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Men need us but can just barely stand us; every now and then they have to discuss our faults.
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The ability of the male mind to rationalize its deeds-and misdeeds-cannot be measured. (And some female minds. But we females have more wild animal in us; mostly we don’t feel any need to justify ourselves. We just do it, whatever it is, because we want to. Is there ever any other reason?)
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Long habit is not changed by mere good resolution;
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When a man looks at a new and attractive woman and decides that he is too tired, it’s time.
When he doesn’t even look, push him over and bury him; he’s failed to notice that he’s dead.
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“If you read it correctly it’s all in the Bible. ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.’ Could anyone ask for a plainer statement of the self-evident fact that nothing exists until someone imagines it and thereby gives it being, reality? The distinction lies only in the difference between ‘being’ and ‘becoming’- a distinction that cancels out when any figment-fact is examined from different ends of the entropy error-“
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“There are three schools of magic. One: State a tautology, then ring the changes on its corollaries; that’s philosophy. Two: Record many facts. Try to see a pattern. Then make a wrong guess at the next fact; that’s science. Three: Awareness that you live in a malevolent universe controlled by Murphy’s Law, sometimes offset in part by Brewster’s Factor: that’s engineering.”
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