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“Certainly my inner world will never be a peaceful place of bloom; it will have some peace, and occasional riots of bloom, but always a little fight going on too. There is no way I can be peacefully happy in this society and in this skin. I am committed to Uneasy Street. I like it; it is my idea that this street leads to the future, and that I am being true to a way of life which is not here yet, but is more real than what is here.”
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“Passing in any crowd are secret people whose hidden response to beauty is the desire to tear it into bleeding meat.”
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“I've had too many experiences in my life of being the first woman in some damned occupation.”
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“Man is an animal whose dreams come true and kill him.”
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
“And here is our girl, looking--
If possible, worse than before. (You thought this was Cinderella transistorized?)”
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If possible, worse than before. (You thought this was Cinderella transistorized?)”
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“I have a cold mind and a warm heart, whereas most people have cold, troubled hearts and warm, muggy minds, which they mistake for sincere feelings.”
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“—so much more opportunity now." Her voice trails off.
"Hurrah for women's lib, eh?"
"The lib?" Impatiently she leans forward and tugs the serape straight. "Oh, that's doomed."
The apocalyptic word jars my attention.
"What do you mean, doomed?"
She glances at me as if I weren't hanging straight either and says vaguely, "Oh …"
"Come on, why doomed? Didn't they get that equal rights bill?"
Long hesitation. When she speaks again her voice is different.
"Women have no rights, Don, except what men allow us. Men are more aggressive and powerful, and they run the world. When the next real crisis upsets them, our so-called rights will vanish like—like that smoke. We'll be back where we always were: property. And whatever has gone wrong will be blamed on our freedom, like the fall of Rome was. You'll see."
Now all this is delivered in a gray tone of total conviction. The last time I heard that tone, the speaker was explaining why he had to keep his file drawers full of dead pigeons.
"Oh, come on. You and your friends are the backbone of the system; if you quit, the country would come to a screeching halt before lunch."
No answering smile.
"That's fantasy." Her voice is still quiet. "Women don't work that way. We're a—a toothless world." She looks around as if she wanted to stop talking. "What women do is survive. We live by ones and twos in the chinks of your world-machine."
"Sounds like a guerrilla operation." I'm not really joking, here in the 'gator den. In fact, I'm wondering if I spent too much thought on mahogany logs.
"Guerrillas have something to hope for." Suddenly she switches on a jolly smile. "Think of us as opossums, Don. Did you know there are opossums living all over? Even in New York City."
I smile back with my neck prickling. I thought I was the paranoid one.
"Men and women aren't different species, Ruth. Women do everything men do."
"Do they?" Our eyes meet, but she seems to be seeing ghosts between us in the rain. She mutters something that could be "My Lai" and looks away. "All the endless wars …" Her voice is a whisper. "All the huge authoritarian organizations for doing unreal things. Men live to struggle against each other; we're just part of the battlefield. It'll never change unless you change the whole world. I dream sometimes of—of going away—" She checks and abruptly changes voice. "Forgive me, Don, it's so stupid saying all this."
"Men hate wars too, Ruth," I say as gently as I can.
"I know." She shrugs and climbs to her feet. "But that's your problem, isn't it?"
End of communication. Mrs. Ruth Parsons isn't even living in the same world with me.”
―
"Hurrah for women's lib, eh?"
"The lib?" Impatiently she leans forward and tugs the serape straight. "Oh, that's doomed."
The apocalyptic word jars my attention.
"What do you mean, doomed?"
She glances at me as if I weren't hanging straight either and says vaguely, "Oh …"
"Come on, why doomed? Didn't they get that equal rights bill?"
Long hesitation. When she speaks again her voice is different.
"Women have no rights, Don, except what men allow us. Men are more aggressive and powerful, and they run the world. When the next real crisis upsets them, our so-called rights will vanish like—like that smoke. We'll be back where we always were: property. And whatever has gone wrong will be blamed on our freedom, like the fall of Rome was. You'll see."
Now all this is delivered in a gray tone of total conviction. The last time I heard that tone, the speaker was explaining why he had to keep his file drawers full of dead pigeons.
"Oh, come on. You and your friends are the backbone of the system; if you quit, the country would come to a screeching halt before lunch."
No answering smile.
"That's fantasy." Her voice is still quiet. "Women don't work that way. We're a—a toothless world." She looks around as if she wanted to stop talking. "What women do is survive. We live by ones and twos in the chinks of your world-machine."
"Sounds like a guerrilla operation." I'm not really joking, here in the 'gator den. In fact, I'm wondering if I spent too much thought on mahogany logs.
"Guerrillas have something to hope for." Suddenly she switches on a jolly smile. "Think of us as opossums, Don. Did you know there are opossums living all over? Even in New York City."
I smile back with my neck prickling. I thought I was the paranoid one.
"Men and women aren't different species, Ruth. Women do everything men do."
"Do they?" Our eyes meet, but she seems to be seeing ghosts between us in the rain. She mutters something that could be "My Lai" and looks away. "All the endless wars …" Her voice is a whisper. "All the huge authoritarian organizations for doing unreal things. Men live to struggle against each other; we're just part of the battlefield. It'll never change unless you change the whole world. I dream sometimes of—of going away—" She checks and abruptly changes voice. "Forgive me, Don, it's so stupid saying all this."
"Men hate wars too, Ruth," I say as gently as I can.
"I know." She shrugs and climbs to her feet. "But that's your problem, isn't it?"
End of communication. Mrs. Ruth Parsons isn't even living in the same world with me.”
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“Well, then. Whatever trauma you went through, these things don't last forever. You can't hate all men."
The smile is back. "Oh, there wasn't any trauma, Don, and I don't hate men. That would be as silly as—as hating the weather." She glances wryly at the blowing rain.
- 'The Women Men Don't See”
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The smile is back. "Oh, there wasn't any trauma, Don, and I don't hate men. That would be as silly as—as hating the weather." She glances wryly at the blowing rain.
- 'The Women Men Don't See”
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“Se anche ci capitasse d’incontrare Geova, o Allah, o Visnù, io continuerei a basarmi sulla seconda legge della termodinamica.”
― La via delle stelle
― La via delle stelle
“Women have no rights, Don, except what men allow us. Men are more aggressive and powerful, and they run the world. When the next real crisis upsets them, our so-called rights will vanish like—like that smoke. We’ll be back where we always were: property. And whatever has gone wrong will be blamed on our freedom, like the fall of Rome was. You’ll see.”
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
“If I could describe "human being" I would be more than I am - and would probably be living in the future, because I think of human beings as something to be realized ahead....But clearly "human beings" have something to do with the luminous image you see in a bright child's eyes - the exploring, wondering eagerly grasping, undestructive quest for life. I see that undescribed spirit as central to us all.”
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“I think they're gentle," she mutters.
"For Christ's sake, Ruth, they're aliens!"
"I'm used to it," she says absently.
- 'The Women Men Don't See”
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"For Christ's sake, Ruth, they're aliens!"
"I'm used to it," she says absently.
- 'The Women Men Don't See”
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“Before he could lose courage he flung himself back and slammed his sleep-inducer to full theta.”
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
“I love the alien in people, god I love the wildness, the wit, the lightning of the Other mind. A kind of sex-in-the-head, you know it's a rather Victorian affliction. Something to do with communication. I have had moments of communication with people, often totally unsuitable people, which had a truly unholy intensity... A sort of orgasmic meaningfulness and clarity, you know, all the old romantic stuff - two strangers stop and suddenly exchange glimpses of reality before moving on into the mists.”
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“[Depression is] like combating the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse with a handful of popcorn. But that handful of popcorn keeps you going. There is no sense in going on, there is no sense in any of those things, but thank God one does not live by reason alone.”
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“What women do is survive. We live by ones and twos in the chinks of your world-machine.”
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
“To grow up as a “girl” is to be nearly fatally spoiled, deformed, confused, and terrified; to be responded to with falsities, to be reacted to as nothing or as a thing—and nearly to become that thing.”
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“Hope is a terrible thing, it brings fear that the hope won’t be realized. Suppress the fear and it surfaces as symbol.”
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
“I see her first while the Mexicana 727 is barreling down to Cozumel Island. I come out of the can and lurch into her seat, saying "Sorry," at a double female blur. The near blur nods quietly. The younger one in the window seat goes on looking out. I continue down the aisle, registering nothing. Zero. I never would have looked at them or thought of them again.
- 'The Women Men Don't See' (opening)”
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- 'The Women Men Don't See' (opening)”
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“Nothing but the effects of dust and vapor in the thin skin of air whereupon she crawls wingless.”
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
“DOCTOR AIN WAS recognized on the Omaha-Chicago flight. A biologist colleague from Pasadena came out of the toilet and saw Ain in an aisle seat. Five years before, this man had been jealous of Ain's huge grants. Now he nodded coldly and was surprised at the intensity of Ain's response. He almost turned back to speak, but he felt too tired; like nearly everyone, he was fighting the flu.
The stewardess handing out coats after they landed remembered Ain too: A tall thin nondescript man with rusty hair. He held up the line staring at her; since he already had his raincoat with him she decided it was some kooky kind of pass and waved him on.
She saw Ain shamble off into the airport smog, apparently alone. Despite the big Civil Defense signs, O'Hare was late getting underground. No one noticed the woman.
- 'The Last Flight of Doctor Ain”
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The stewardess handing out coats after they landed remembered Ain too: A tall thin nondescript man with rusty hair. He held up the line staring at her; since he already had his raincoat with him she decided it was some kooky kind of pass and waved him on.
She saw Ain shamble off into the airport smog, apparently alone. Despite the big Civil Defense signs, O'Hare was late getting underground. No one noticed the woman.
- 'The Last Flight of Doctor Ain”
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“Bethesda … Would I be wrong in guessing you work for Uncle Sam?"
"Why, yes. You must be very familiar with Washington, Mr. Fenton. Does your work bring you there often?"
Anywhere but on our sandbar the little ploy would have worked. My hunter's gene twitches.
"Which agency are you with?"
She gives up gracefully. "Oh, just GSA records. I'm a librarian."
Of course. I know her now, all the Mrs. Parsonses in records divisions, accounting sections, research branches, personnel and administration offices. Tell Mrs. Parsons we need a recap on the external service contracts for fiscal '73.
- 'The Women Men Don't See”
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"Why, yes. You must be very familiar with Washington, Mr. Fenton. Does your work bring you there often?"
Anywhere but on our sandbar the little ploy would have worked. My hunter's gene twitches.
"Which agency are you with?"
She gives up gracefully. "Oh, just GSA records. I'm a librarian."
Of course. I know her now, all the Mrs. Parsonses in records divisions, accounting sections, research branches, personnel and administration offices. Tell Mrs. Parsons we need a recap on the external service contracts for fiscal '73.
- 'The Women Men Don't See”
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“Briefly he has lived in a dream more real than all his miserable life.”
― Up the Walls of the World
― Up the Walls of the World
“A voice spoke in his head, mellow and vast:
"Long have we watched you, little one."
"Who's there?" he quavered. "Who are you?"
"Your concepts are inadequate."
"Malfunction! Malfunction!" squalled the scouter.
"Shut up, it's not a malfunction. Who's talking to me?"
"You may call us: Rulers of the Galaxy."
The scouter was lunging wildly, buffeting him as it tried to escape the white grasp. Strange crunches, firings of unknown weapons. Still the white stasis held.
"What do you want?" he cried.
"Want?" said the voice dreamily. "We are wise beyond knowing. Powerful beyond your dreams. Perhaps you can get us some fresh fruit."
- 'Painwise”
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"Long have we watched you, little one."
"Who's there?" he quavered. "Who are you?"
"Your concepts are inadequate."
"Malfunction! Malfunction!" squalled the scouter.
"Shut up, it's not a malfunction. Who's talking to me?"
"You may call us: Rulers of the Galaxy."
The scouter was lunging wildly, buffeting him as it tried to escape the white grasp. Strange crunches, firings of unknown weapons. Still the white stasis held.
"What do you want?" he cried.
"Want?" said the voice dreamily. "We are wise beyond knowing. Powerful beyond your dreams. Perhaps you can get us some fresh fruit."
- 'Painwise”
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“He was wise in the ways of pain. He had to be, for he felt none.
When the Xenons put electrodes to his testicles, he was vastly entertained by the pretty lights.
When the Ylls fed firewasps into his nostrils and other body orifices the resultant rainbows pleased him. And when later they regressed to simple disjointments and eviscerations, he noted with interest the deepening orchid hues that stood for irreversible harm.
"This time?" he asked the boditech when his scouter had torn him from the Ylls.
"No," said the boditech.
"When?"
There was no answer.
"You're a girl in there, aren't you? A human girl?"
"Well, yes and no," said the boditech. "Sleep now."
He had no choice.
- 'Painwise”
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When the Xenons put electrodes to his testicles, he was vastly entertained by the pretty lights.
When the Ylls fed firewasps into his nostrils and other body orifices the resultant rainbows pleased him. And when later they regressed to simple disjointments and eviscerations, he noted with interest the deepening orchid hues that stood for irreversible harm.
"This time?" he asked the boditech when his scouter had torn him from the Ylls.
"No," said the boditech.
"When?"
There was no answer.
"You're a girl in there, aren't you? A human girl?"
"Well, yes and no," said the boditech. "Sleep now."
He had no choice.
- 'Painwise”
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“For dreams that never die.”
― Up the Walls of the World
― Up the Walls of the World
“A love that is not sated
Calls from a poisoned bed;
Where monsters half-created writhe, unliving and undead.
None knows for what they’re fated;
None knows on what they’ve fed.”
― Tales of the Quintana Roo
Calls from a poisoned bed;
Where monsters half-created writhe, unliving and undead.
None knows for what they’re fated;
None knows on what they’ve fed.”
― Tales of the Quintana Roo
“I wish I could understand the window in your soul. Mine has none such, but I believe in others'. It is as though mine says to me, You alone are damned. To you the daylight, to you the reality of what appears; for you the dead of Carthage will be dead forever, the pain everywhere the overmastering reality, the skull beneath the fairest skin always visible beneath the blue-veined temples, in the laughing teeth. To you, the lone and level sands covering human endeavor, the ephemerality of laughter. ... Only for others, the reality of human life, the game worthwhile as it is being played. Only for others, any kind of hope. Only for others, the window in the closed room.--or closed galaxy, it makes no difference.”
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“It’s an overreaction, my dear. History goes by swings. People overreact and pass harsh unrealistic laws which attempt to stamp out an essential social process. When this happens, the people who understand have to carry on as best they can until the pendulum swings back.”
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
― Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
