Winston Niles Rumfoord Quotes in The Sirens of Titan
The moral: Money, position, health, handsomeness, and talent aren’t everything.
“When I ran my space ship into the chrono-synclastic infundibulum, it came to me in a flash that everything that has been always will be, and everything that ever will be always has been.” He chuckled again. “Knowing that rather takes the glamour out of fortunetelling—makes it the simplest, most obvious thing imaginable.”
The discovery of the chrono-synclastic infundibula said to mankind in effect: “What makes you think you’re going anywhere?”
It was a situation made to order for American fundamentalist preachers. They were quicker than philosophers or historians or anybody to talk sense about the truncated Age of Space.
“Luck, good or bad,” said Rumfoord up in his treetop, is not the hand of God.”
“Luck,” said Rumfoord up in his treetop, is the way the wind swirls and the dust settles eons after God has passed by.”
“There it is—friend,” he said to his memory of Rumfoord, “and much consolation may it give you, Skip. Much pain it cost your old friend Salo. In order to give it to you—even too late—your old friend Salo had to make war against the core of his being, against the very nature of being a machine.
“You asked the impossible of a machine,” said Salo, “and the machine complied.”
Winston Niles Rumfoord Quotes in The Sirens of Titan
The moral: Money, position, health, handsomeness, and talent aren’t everything.
“When I ran my space ship into the chrono-synclastic infundibulum, it came to me in a flash that everything that has been always will be, and everything that ever will be always has been.” He chuckled again. “Knowing that rather takes the glamour out of fortunetelling—makes it the simplest, most obvious thing imaginable.”
The discovery of the chrono-synclastic infundibula said to mankind in effect: “What makes you think you’re going anywhere?”
It was a situation made to order for American fundamentalist preachers. They were quicker than philosophers or historians or anybody to talk sense about the truncated Age of Space.
“Luck, good or bad,” said Rumfoord up in his treetop, is not the hand of God.”
“Luck,” said Rumfoord up in his treetop, is the way the wind swirls and the dust settles eons after God has passed by.”
“There it is—friend,” he said to his memory of Rumfoord, “and much consolation may it give you, Skip. Much pain it cost your old friend Salo. In order to give it to you—even too late—your old friend Salo had to make war against the core of his being, against the very nature of being a machine.
“You asked the impossible of a machine,” said Salo, “and the machine complied.”