Цитаты из книги Slaughterhouse-Five

— Как приятно — ничего не чувствовать и все же считаться живым.

Но на самом деле Евангелие учило вот чему: прежде чем кого-то убить, проверь как следует, нет ли у него влиятельной родни? Такие дела.

Из любви к нему она с удовольствием подрывала его чувство собственного достоинства.

Они перестали держаться прямо, потом перестали бриться и мыться, потом не вставали с постели, потом перестали разговаривать, а потом умерли. Конечно, можно только сказать одно в их защиту: уйти из жизни таким способом очень легко и безболезненно.

Одно из самых главных последствий войны состоит в том, что люди в конце концов разочаровываются в героизме.

Рэмфорд считал, что каждый неугодный ему человек, чья смерть, из практических соображений, казалась ему весьма желательной, непременно страдает какой-нибудь скверной болезнью.

The visitor from outer space made a serious study of Christianity, to learn, if he could, why Christians found it so easy to be cruel. He concluded that at least part of the trouble was slipshod storytelling in the New Testament. He supposed that the intent of the Gospels was to teach people, among other things, to be merciful, even to the lowest of the low. But the Gospels actually taught this: Before you kill somebody, make absolutely sure he isn't well connected. So it goes. The flaw in the Christ stories, said the visitor from outer space, was that Christ, who didn't look like much, was actually the Son of the Most Powerful Being in the Universe. Readers understood that, so, when they came to the crucifixion, they naturally thought, and Rosewater read out loud again: Oh, boy—they sure picked the wrong guy to lynch that time! And that thought had a brother: ''There are right people to lynch.'' Who? People not well connected. So it goes. The visitor from outer space made a gift to Earth of a new Gospel. In it, Jesus really was a nobody, and a pain in the neck to a lot of people with better connections than he had. He still got to say all the lovely and puzzling things he said in the other Gospels. So the people amused themselves one day by nailing him to a cross and planting the cross in the ground. There couldn't possibly be any repercussions, the lynchers thought. The reader would have to think that, too, since the new Gospel hammered home again and again what a nobody Jesus was. And then, just before the nobody died, the heavens opened up, and there was thunder and lightning. The voice of God came crashing down. He told the people that he was adopting the bum as his son giving him the full powers and privileges of The Son of the Creator of the Universe throughout all eternity. God said this: From this moment on, He will punish horribly anybody who torments a bum who has no connections!

.– Где я? – спросил Билли. – Застыли в другом куске янтаря, мистер Пилигрим. Мы там, где мы и должны сейчас быть, – в трехстах миллионах миль от Земли, и направляемся по тому витку зремени, который приведет нас на Тральфамадор, но не через века, а через несколько часов. – Но как – как я попал сюда? – Это мог бы вам объяснить только другой житель Земли. Земляне – любители все объяснять, они объясняют, почему данное событие сложилось так, а не иначе, они даже рассказывают, как можно было бы отвратить или вызвать какое-нибудь событие. Но я – тральфамадорец и вижу время, как вы видите сразу единую горную цепь Скалистых гор. Время есть все время… Оно неизменно. Его нельзя ни объяснить, ни предугадать. Оно просто есть. Рассмотрите его миг за мигом – и вы поймете, что мы просто насекомые в янтаре.

'Welcome aboard, Mr. Pilgrim,' said the loudspeaker. 'Any questions?' Billy licked his lips, thought a while, inquired at last: 'Why me? ' That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?' 'Yes.' Billy in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three ladybugs embedded in it. 'Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.'

"You were just babies then!' she said. 'What?" I said. 'You were just babies in the war - like the ones upstairs!' I nodded that this was true. We had been foolish virgins in the war, right at the end of childhood. 'But you're not going to write it that way, are you.' This wasn't a question. It was an accusation. 'I-I don't know,' I said. 'Well, I know,' she said. 'You'll pretend you were men instead of babies, and you'll be played in the movies by Frank Sinatra and John Wayne or some of those other glamorous, war-loving, dirty old men. And war will look just wonderful, so we'll have a lot more of them. And they'll be fought by babies like the babies upstairs.' So then I understood. It was war that made her so angry. She didn't want her babies or anybody else's babies killed in wars. And she thought wars were partly encouraged by books and movies.