“We don't make bicycles anymore. It's all human relations now. The eggheads sit around trying to figure out new ways for everyone to be happy. Nobody can get fired, no matter what; and if somebody does accidentally make a bicycle, the union accuses us of cruel and inhuman practices and the government confiscates the bicycle for back taxes and gives it to a blind man in Afghanistan.”
― Cat’s Cradle
― Cat’s Cradle
“No damn cat, and no damn cradle.”
― Cat’s Cradle
― Cat’s Cradle
“No wonder kids grow up crazy. A cat's cradle is nothing but a bunch of X's between somebody's hands, and little kids look and look and look at all those X's . . ."
"And?"
"No damn cat, and no damn cradle.”
― Cat’s Cradle
"And?"
"No damn cat, and no damn cradle.”
― Cat’s Cradle
“Young Castle called me "Scoop." "Good Morning, Scoop. What's new in the word game?"
"I might ask the same of you," I replied.
"I'm thinking of calling a general strike of all writers until mankind finally comes to its senses. Would you support it?"
"Do writers have a right to strike? That would be like the police or the firemen walking out."
"Or the college professors."
"Or the college professors," I agreed. I shook my head. "No, I don't think my conscience would let me support a strike like that. When a man becomes a writer, I think he takes a sacred obligation to produce beauty and enlightenment and comfort at top speed."
"I just can't help thinking what a real shake up it would give people if, all of a sudden, there were no new books, new plays, new histories, new poems..."
"And how proud would you be when people started dying like flies?" I demanded.
"They'd die more like mad dogs, I think--snarling & snapping at each other & biting their own tails."
I turned to Castle the elder. "Sir, how does a man die when he's deprived of the consolation of literature?"
"In one of two ways," he said, "petrescence of the heart or atrophy of the nervous system."
"Neither one very pleasant, I expect," I suggested.
"No," said Castle the elder. "For the love of God, both of you, please keep writing!”
― Cat’s Cradle
"I might ask the same of you," I replied.
"I'm thinking of calling a general strike of all writers until mankind finally comes to its senses. Would you support it?"
"Do writers have a right to strike? That would be like the police or the firemen walking out."
"Or the college professors."
"Or the college professors," I agreed. I shook my head. "No, I don't think my conscience would let me support a strike like that. When a man becomes a writer, I think he takes a sacred obligation to produce beauty and enlightenment and comfort at top speed."
"I just can't help thinking what a real shake up it would give people if, all of a sudden, there were no new books, new plays, new histories, new poems..."
"And how proud would you be when people started dying like flies?" I demanded.
"They'd die more like mad dogs, I think--snarling & snapping at each other & biting their own tails."
I turned to Castle the elder. "Sir, how does a man die when he's deprived of the consolation of literature?"
"In one of two ways," he said, "petrescence of the heart or atrophy of the nervous system."
"Neither one very pleasant, I expect," I suggested.
"No," said Castle the elder. "For the love of God, both of you, please keep writing!”
― Cat’s Cradle
“Self-taught, are you?" Julian Castle asked Newt.
"Isn't everybody?" Newt inquired.
"Very good answer.”
― Cat’s Cradle
"Isn't everybody?" Newt inquired.
"Very good answer.”
― Cat’s Cradle
Kardiganka’s 2025 Year in Books
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