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Аноним19 апреля 2013 г.One of the dearest Postwar hopes: that there should be no room for a terrible disease like charisma . . . that its rationalization should proceed while we had the time and resources. . . .
667- Аноним19 апреля 2013 г.
Dr. Rozsavölgyi tends to favor a powerful program over a powerful leader. Maybe because this is 1945. It was widely believed in those days that behind the War—all the death, savagery, and destruction—lay the Führer-principle. But if personalities could be replaced by abstractions of power, if techniques developed by the corporations could be brought to bear, might not nations live rationally?
667 - Аноним19 апреля 2013 г.
"Well, it isn't fair."
"It's eminently fair," Roger now cynical, looking very young, she thinks. "Everyone's equal. Same chances of getting hit. Equal in the eyes of the rocket."669 - Аноним19 апреля 2013 г.
How can Mexico play, so at his ease, with these symbols of randomness and fright? Innocent as a child, perhaps unaware—perhaps—that in his play he wrecks the elegant rooms of history, threatens the idea of cause and effect itself. What if Mexico's whole generation have turned out like this? Will Postwar be nothing but "events," newly created one moment to the next? No links? Is it the end of history?
670 - Аноним19 апреля 2013 г.
Roger has tried to explain to her the V-bomb statistics: the differ-ence between distribution, in angel's-eye view, over the map of England, and their own chances, as seen from down here. She's almost got it: nearly understands his Poisson equation, yet can't quite put the two together—put her own enforced calm day-to-day alongside the pure numbers, and keep them both in sight.
670 - Аноним19 апреля 2013 г.
. . . don't you know there's a war on, moron? yes but—here's Jessica in her sister's hand-me-down pajamas, and Roger asleep in nothing at all, but where is the war?
Until it touch them. Until something falls.675 - Аноним19 апреля 2013 г.Читать далее
They are approaching now a lengthy brick improvisation, a Victorian paraphrase of what once, long ago, resulted in Gothic cathedrals—but which, in its own time, arose not from any need to climb through the fashioning of suitable confusions toward any apical God, but more in a derangement of aim, a doubt as to the God's actual locus (or, in some, as to its very existence), out of a cruel network of sensuous moments that could not be transcended and so bent the intentions of the builders not on any zenith, but back to fright, to simple escape, in whatever direction, from what the industrial smoke, street excrement, windowless warrens, shrugging leather forests of drive belts, flowing and patient shadow states of the rats and flies, were saying about the chances for mercy that year.
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Аноним24 июля 2017 г.«Меггезон» — это как будто тебя отлупили по башке швейцарскими Альпами. Из верхнего нёба мигом прорастают ментоловые сосульки. Белые медведи ищут, куда бы поставить лапу, взбираясь по мороженным виноградным кистям альвеол в легких. Зубам так больно, что не вздохнуть, даже носом, даже ослабив галстук и укутав ноздри воротом тускло-оливковой футболки. Бензойные пары пропитывают мозг. Голова плывет в ледяном нимбе.
596- Аноним29 апреля 2013 г.
Who could have guessed there'd be real black rocket troops? That a story made up to scare last year's enemy should prove to be literally true—and no way now to stuff them back in the bottle or even say the spell backward: no one ever knew the complete spell—different people knew different parts of it, that's what teamwork is. . . .
567 - Аноним29 апреля 2013 г.
And yet, and yet: there is Murphy's Law to consider, that brash Irish proletarian restatement of Gödel's Theorem—when everything has been taken care of, when nothing can go wrong, or even surprise us. . . something will.
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