Billy Pilgrim Quotes

Among the things Billy Pilgrim could not change were the past, the present, and the future.

If what Billy Pilgrim learned from the Tralfamadorians is true, that we will all live forever, no matter how dead we may sometimes seem to be, I am not overjoyed. Still--if I am going to spend eternity visiting this moment and that, I'm grateful that so many of those moments are nice.

Billy had a framed prayer on his office wall which expressed his method for keeping going, even though he was unenthusiastic about living. A lot of patients who saw the prayer on Billy’s wall told him that it helped them to keep going, too. It went like this: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom always to tell the difference.” Among the things Billy Pilgrim could not change were the past, the present, and the future.

Among the things Billy Pilgrim could not change were the past, present, and future.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom always to tell the difference.' Among the things Billy Pilgrim could not change were the past, the present, and the future.

Billy Pilgrim has become unstuck in time.

On Tralfamadore, says Billy Pilgrim, there isn't much interest in Jesus Christ. The Earthling figure who is most engaging to the Tralfamadorian mind, he says, is Charles Darwin - who taught that those who die are meant to die, that corpses are improvements. So it goes.

People aren't supposed to look back. I'm certainly not going to do it anymore. I've finished my war book now. The next one I write is going to be fun. This one is a failure, and had to be, since it was written by a pillar of salt. It begins like this: 'Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.' It ends like this: 'Poo-tee-weet?

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 lady-bugs embedded in it. "Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

Poo-tee-weet?

Billy covered his head with his blanket. He always covered his head when his mother came to see him in the mental ward - always got much sicker until she went away. It wasn’t that she was ugly, or had bad breath or a bad personality. She was a perfectly nice, standard-issue, brown-haired, white woman with a high school education. She upset Billy simply by being his mother. She made him feel embarrassed and ungrateful and weak because she had gone through so much trouble to give him life, and to keep that life going, and Billy didn’t really like life at all.

Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.

Billy Pilgrim says that the Universe does not look like a lot of bright little dots to the creatures from Tralfamadore. The creatures can see where each star has been and where it is going, so that the heavens are filled with rarefied, luminous spaghetti. And Tralfamadorians don't see human beings as two-legged creatures, either. They see them as great millepedes - "with babies' legs at one end and old people's legs at the other," says Billy Pilgrim.

I, Billy Pilgrim, the tape begins, will die, have died, and always will die on February thirteenth, 1976.

So Billy experiences death for a while. It is simply violet light and a hum. There isn’t anybody else there. Not even Billy Pilgrim is there.

Billy Pilgrim, there in the creekbed, thought he, Billy Pilgrim, was turning to steam painlessly.

Billy looked at the clock on the gas stove. He had an hour to kill before the saucer came. He went into the living room, swinging the bottle like a dinner bell, turned on the television. He came slightly unstuck in time, saw the late movie backwards, then forwards again. It was a movie about American bombers in the Second World War and the gallant men who flew them. Seen backwards by Billy, the story went like this: American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, and those planes flew up backwards to join the formation. The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks. The Germans below had miraculous devices of their own, which were long steel tubes. They used them to suck more fragments from the crewmen and planes. But there were still a few wounded Americans, though, and some of the bombers were in bad repair. Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything and everybody as good as new. When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground., to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again. The American fliers turned in their uniforms, became high school kids. And Hitler turned into a baby, Billy Pilgrim supposed. That wasn't in the movie. Billy was extrapolating. Everybody turned into a baby, and all humanity, without exception, conspired biologically to produce two perfect people named Adam and Eve, he supposed.

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 plop 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.

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 lady-bugs embedded in it. "Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

Billy Pilgrim was Cinderella, and Cinderella was Billy Pilgrim.

She asked Billy Pilgrim what he was supposed to be, Billy said he didn't know.

Billy Pilgrim: "You guys go on without me. I'll be alright." Slaughterhouse-Five Kurt Vonnegut

I’m going to lose weight for you,” she [Valencia Merble] said. “What?” “I’m going to go on a diet. I’m going to become beautiful for you.” “I like you just the way you are.” “Do you really?” “Really,” said Billy Pilgrim. He had already seen a lot of their marriage, thanks to time-travel, and knew that it was going to be at least bearable all the way.

He went home for a nap after lunch. He was under doctor’s orders to take a nap every day. The doctor hoped that this would relieve a complaint that Billy had: Every so often, for no apparent reason, Billy Pilgrim would find himself weeping. Nobody had ever caught Billy doing it. Only the doctor knew. It was an extremely quiet thing Billy did, and not very moist.

And now there was an acrimonious madrigal, with parts sung in all quarters of the car. Nearly everybody, seemingly, had an atrocity story of something Billy Pilgrim had done to him in his sleep. Everybody told Billy Pilgrim to keep the hell away.

I've finished my war book now. The next one I write is going to be fun. This one is a failure, and had to be, since it was written by a pillar of salt. It begins like this: Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time. It ends like this: Poo-tee-weet?

How- how did I get here?" "It would take another Earthling to explain it to you. Earthlings are the great explainers, explaining why this event is structured as it is, telling how other events may be achieved or avoided. I am a Tralfamadorian, seeing all time as you might see a stretch of the Rocky Mountains. All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I've said before, bugs in amber." "You sound to me as if you don't believe in free will," said Billy Pilgrim.

Billy Pilgrim had a theory about diaries. Women were more likely than men to think that their lives had sufficient meaning to require recording on a daily basis. It was not for the most part a God-is-leading-me-on-a-wondrous-journey kind of meaning, but more an I've-gotta-be-me-but-nobody-cares sentimentalism that passed for meaning, and they usually stopped keeping a diary by the time they hit thirty, because by then they didn't want to ponder the meaning of life anymore because it scared the crap out of them.

And then they saw bearded Billy Pilgrim in his blue toga and silver shoes, with his hands in a muff. He looked at least sixty years old.

Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time. It ends like this: Poo-tee-weet?

Entre las cosas que Billy Pilgrim no podía cambiar se encontraban el pasado, el presente y el futuro.

You sound to me as though you don't be leave in the free will,' said Billy Pilgrim. 'If I hadn't spent so much time studying Earthlings,' said the Tralfamadorian, 'I wouldn't have any idea what was meant by 'free will.' I've visited thirty-one inhabited planets in the universe, and I haven't studied reports on 100 more. Only on Earth is there any talk of free will.

Billy Pilgrim padded downstairs on his blue and ivory feet. He went into the kitchen, where the moonlight called his attention to a half a bottle of champagne on the kitchen table, all that was left from the reception in the tent. Some had stoppered it again. "Drink me," it seemed to say. So Billy uncorked it with this thumbs. It didn't make a pop. The champagne was dead. So it goes.

Every so often, for no apparent reason, Billy Pilgrim would find himself weeping. Nobody had ever caught Billy doing it. Only the doctor knew. It was an extremely quiet thing Billy did, and not very moist.

Today we do. On other days we have wars as horrible as any you've ever seen or read about. There isn't anything we can do about them, so we simply don't look at them. We ignore them. We spend eternity looking at pleasant moments-like today at the zoo. Isn't this a nice moment?" "Yes." "That's one thing Earthlings might learn to do, if they tried hard enough: Ignore the awful times, and concentrate on the good ones." "Um," said Billy Pilgrim.

Somewhere in there was Christmas. Billy Pilgrim nestled like a spoon with the hobo on Christmas night, and he fell asleep, and he traveled in time to 1967 again—to the night he was kidnapped by a flying saucer from Tralfamadore.

Dresden was destroyed on the night of February 13, 1945,” Billy Pilgrim began. “We came out of our shelter the next day.” He told Montana about the four guards who, in their astonishment and grief, resembled a barbershop quartet. He told her about the stockyards with all the fenceposts gone,

Those boots were almost all he owned in this world. They were his home. An anecdote: One time a recruit was watching him bone and wax those golden boots, and he held one up to the recruit and said, 'If you look in there deeply enough, you'll see Adam and Eve.' Billy Pilgrim had not heard this anecdote. But, lying on the black ice there, Billy stared into the patina of the corporal's boots, saw Adam and Eve in the golden depths. They were naked. They were so innocent, so vulnerable, so eager to behave decently. Billy Pilgrim loved them. Next to the golden boots were a pair of feet which were swaddled in rags. They were crisscrossed by canvas straps, were shod with hinged wooden clogs. Billy looked up at the face that went with the clogs. It was the face of a blond angel of fifteen-year-old boy. The boy was as beautiful as Eve. Billy was helped to his feet by the lovely boy, by the heavenly androgyne.

The American fliers turned in their uniforms, became high school kids. And Hitler turned into a baby, Billy Pilgrim supposed. That wasn't in the movie. Billy was extrapolating. Everybody turned into a baby, and all humanity, without exception, conspired biologically to produce two perfect people named Adam and Eve, he supposed.

HERE IS HOW Billy Pilgrim lost his wife, Valencia. He was unconscious in the hospital in Vermont, after the airplane crashed on Sugarbush Mountain, and Valencia, having heard about the crash, was driving from Ilium to the hospital in the family Cadillac El Dorado Coupe de Ville. Valencia was hysterical, because she had been told frankly that Billy might die,

And then they saw bearded Billy Pilgrim in his blue toga and silver shoes, with his hands in a muff. He looked at least sixty years old. Next to Billy was little Paul Lazzaro with a broken arm. He was fizzing with rabies. Next to Lazzaro was the poor old high school teacher, Edgar Derby, mournfully pregnant with patriotism and middle age and imaginary wisdom.

Hiroshima. So I’ve got to put something about it in my book. From the official Air Force standpoint, it’ll all be new.” “Why would they keep it a secret so long?” said Lily. “For fear that a lot of bleeding hearts,” said Rumfoord, “might not think it was such a wonderful thing to do.” It was now that Billy Pilgrim spoke up intelligently. “I was there,” he said.

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.

It had to be done,” Rumfoord told Billy, speaking of the destruction of Dresden. “I know,” said Billy. “That’s war.” “I know. I’m not complaining.” “It must have been hell on the ground.” “It was,” said Billy Pilgrim. “Pity the men who had to do it.” “I do.” “You must have had mixed feelings, there on the ground.” “It was all right,” said Billy. “Everything is all right, and everybody has to do exactly what he does.

BILLY PILGRIM says that the Universe does not look like a lot of bright little dots to the creatures from Tralfamadore. The creatures can see where each star has been and where it is going, so that the heavens are filled with rarefied, luminous spaghetti. And Tralfamadorians don’t see human beings as two-legged creatures, either. They see them as great millepedes—“with babies’ legs at one end and old people’s legs at the other,” says Billy Pilgrim.

Billy Pilgrim wasn't weak, she decided, as he drifted back to sleep—he was broken. The whole system was broken. Sending young men to war, expecting them to come back whole, their bullets to make things right. Expecting a girl from the Big Sky State to step off a bus in LA and have a career that wouldn't kill her. The machinery of it all was set up unfair from the start. Living in three dimensions meant you learned what you needed to know too late in life.

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.” ***

And Lot’s wife, of course, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human. So she was turned to a pillar of salt. So it goes. *** People aren’t supposed to look back. I’m certainly not going to do it anymore. I’ve finished my war book now. The next one I write is going to be fun. This one is a failure, and had to be, since it was written by a pillar of salt. It begins like this: Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time. It ends like this: Poo-tee-weet?

It would take another Earthling to explain it to you. Earthlings are the great explainers, explaining why this event is structured as it is, telling how other events may be achieved or avoided. I am a Tralfamadorian, seeing all time as you might see a stretch of the Rocky Mountains. All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I’ve said before, bugs in amber.” “You sound to me as though you don’t believe in free will,” said Billy 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.

Earthlings are the great explainers, explaining why this event is structured as it is, telling how other events may be achieved or avoided. I am a Tralfamadorian, seeing all time as you might see a stretch of the Rocky Mountains. All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I’ve said before, bugs in amber.” “You sound to me as though you don’t believe in free will,” said Billy Pilgrim. *** “If I hadn’t spent so much time studying Earthlings,” said the Tralfamadorian, “I wouldn’t have any idea what was meant by ‘free will.’ I’ve visited thirty-one inhabited planets in the universe, and I have studied reports on one hundred more. Only on Earth is there any talk of free will.

American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, and those planes flew up backwards to join the formation. The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks. The Germans below had miraculous devices of their own, which were long steel tubes. They used them to suck more fragments from the crewmen and planes. But there were still a few wounded Americans, though, and some of the bombers were in bad repair. Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything and everybody as good as new. •  •  • When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again. The American fliers turned in their uniforms, became high school kids. And Hitler turned into a baby, Billy Pilgrim supposed. That wasn’t in the movie. Billy was extrapolating. Everybody turned into a baby, and all humanity, without exception, conspired biologically to produce two perfect people named Adam and Eve, he supposed.

But this was America, the land of opportunists, and here it wasn’t enough to want something. You had to fight for what you wanted and fight hard, fight through your own resistance and the jeers of others and physical adversity, which was what the Pilgrims had done vis-à-vis the whole Thanksgiving situation, and after them the colonists, who had bucked the most powerful empire on earth even though they were basically just a bunch of underfed tax evaders. And then the pioneers. No, you couldn’t forget the pioneers, who had traversed vast prairies and mountains, and battled Indians and grizzly bears and inclement weather and various kinds of pox, and some had even starved and had to eat each other to survive, which, by the way, would make a terrific film treatment, Billy thought, because it said so much about the indomitable spirit that had built the country. Not that cannibalism was part of the indomitable American spirit, but it showed how far some people would go to find good property.

Wherever you go, Provincetown will always take you back, at whatever age and in whatever condition. Because time moves somewhat differently there, it is possible to return after ten years or more and run into an acquaintance, on Commercial or at the A&P, who will ask mildly, as if he’d seen you the day before yesterday, what you’ve been doing with yourself. The streets of Provincetown are not in any way threatening, at least not to those with an appetite for the full range of human passions. If you grow deaf and blind and lame in Provincetown, some younger person with a civic conscience will wheel you wherever you need to go; if you die there, the marshes and dunes are ready to receive your ashes. While you’re alive and healthy, for as long as it lasts, the golden hands of the clock tower at Town Hall will note each hour with an electric bell as we below, on our purchase of land, buy or sell, paint or write or fish for bass, or trade gossip on the post office steps. The old bayfront houses will go on dreaming, at least until the emptiness between their boards proves more durable than the boards themselves. The sands will continue their slow devouring of the forests that were the Pilgrims’ first sight of North America, where man, as Fitzgerald put it, “must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.” The ghost of Dorothy Bradford will walk the ocean floor off Herring Cove, draped in seaweed, surrounded by the fleeting silver lights of fish, and the ghost of Guglielmo Marconi will tap out his messages to those even longer dead than he. The whales will breach and loll in their offshore world, dive deep into black canyons, and swim south when the time comes. Herons will browse the tidal pools; crabs with blue claws tipped in scarlet will scramble sideways over their own shadows. At sunset the dunes will take on their pink-orange light, and just after sunset the boats will go luminous in the harbor. Ashes of the dead, bits of their bones, will mingle with the sand in the salt marsh, and wind and water will further disperse the scraps of wood, shell, and rope I’ve used for Billy’s various memorials. After dark the raccoons and opossums will start on their rounds; the skunks will rouse from their burrows and head into town. In summer music will rise up. The old man with the portable organ will play for passing change in front of the public library. People in finery will sing the anthems of vanished goddesses; people who are still trying to live by fishing will pump quarters into jukeboxes that play the songs of their high school days. As night progresses, people in diminishing numbers will wander the streets (where whaling captains and their wives once promenaded, where O’Neill strode in drunken furies, where Radio Girl—who knows where she is now?—announced the news), hoping for surprises or just hoping for what the night can be counted on to provide, always, in any weather: the smell of water and its sound; the little houses standing square against immensities of ocean and sky; and the shapes of gulls gliding overhead, white as bone china, searching from their high silence for whatever they might be able to eat down there among the dunes and marshes, the black rooftops, the little lights tossing on the water as the tides move out or in.

Billy miró el reloj que había sobre la cocina. Tenía que matar el tiempo durante una hora antes de que llegara el platillo. Se fue a la salita balanceando la botella como si fuera una campana, se sentó en una butaca y encendió el televisor. Entonces, tras haberse aislado ligeramente del tiempo, vio la última película, primero al revés, de fin a principio, y luego otra vez en sentido normal. Era una película sobre la actuación de los bombarderos americanos durante la Segunda Guerra Mundial y sobre los valientes hombres que los tripulaban. Vista hacia atrás la historia era así: Aviones americanos llenos de agujeros, de hombres heridos y de cadáveres, despegaban de espaldas en un aeródromo de Inglaterra. Al sobrevolar Francia se encontraban con aviones alemanes de combate que volaban hacia atrás, aspirando balas y trozos de metralla de algunos aviones y dotaciones. Lo mismo se repitió con algunos aviones americanos destrozados en tierra, que alzaron el vuelo hacia atrás y se unieron a la formación. La formación volaba de espaldas hacia una ciudad alemana que era presa de las llamas. Cuando llegaron, los bombarderos abrieron sus escotillas y merced a un milagroso magnetismo redujeron el fuego, concentrándolo en unos cilindros de acero que aspiraron hasta hacerlos entrar en sus entrañas. Los containers fueron almacenados con todo cuidado en hileras. Pero allí abajo, los alemanes también tenían sus propios inventos milagrosos, consistentes en largos tubos de acero que utilizaron para succionar más balas y trozos de metralla de los aviones y de sus tripulantes. Pero todavía quedaban algunos heridos americanos, y algunos de los aviones estaban en mal estado. A pesar de ello, al sobrevolar Francia aparecieron nuevos aviones alemanes que solucionaron el conflicto. Y todo el mundo estuvo de nuevo sano y salvo. Cuando los bombarderos volvieron a sus bases, los cilindros de acero fueron sacados de sus estuches y devueltos en barcos a los Estados Unidos de América. Allí las fábricas funcionaban de día y de noche extrayendo el peligroso contenido de los recipientes. Lo conmovedor de la escena era que el trabajo lo realizaban, en su mayor parte, mujeres. Los minerales peligrosos eran enviados a especialistas que se encontraban en regiones lejanas. Su tarea consistía en enterrarlos y esconderlos bien para que así no volvieran a hacer daño a nadie. Los pilotos americanos mudaron sus uniformes para convertirse en muchachos que asistían a las escuelas superiores. Y Hitler se transformó en niño, según dedujo Billy Pilgrim. En la película no estaba. Porque Billy extrapolaba. Y se imaginó que todos se volvían niños, que toda la humanidad, sin excepción, conspiraba biológicamente para producir dos criaturas perfectas llamadas Adán y Eva.

A formação voou de costas sobre uma cidade alemã em chamas. Os bombardeiros abriram os alçapões das bombas e realizaram um magnetismo milagroso que encolheu os incêndios, reunindo-os em recipientes cilíndricos de aço e levantou os recipientes nos bojos dos aviões. Os recipientes arrumaram-se em prateleiras. Os alemães lá embaixo também tinham os seus artifícios milagrosos, que eram longos tubos de aço. Eram usados para aspirar mais fragmentos dos tripulantes e dos aviões. Mas, ainda assim, havia uns poucos americanos feridos e alguns dos bombardeiros estavam em mau estado. Sobre a França, porém, os aviões de combate alemães voltaram e consertaram tudo. • • • Quando os bombardeiros voltaram à sua base, os cilindros de aço foram retirados das prateleiras e mandados de volta aos Estados Unidos, onde havia fábricas funcionando noite e dia, desmontando os cilindros e separando o seu perigoso conteúdo em minerais. Um aspecto tocante era que o trabalho estava entregue principalmente a mulheres. Em seguida os minerais foram enviados a especialistas em lugares remotos. A função deles era enterrá-los no solo, escondê-los tão bem que jamais pudessem voltar a fazer mal a quem quer que fosse. Os aviadores americanos devolveram seus uniformes e se transformaram em estudantes. E Billy Pilgrim supôs que Hitler se transformou num bebê. Isto não estava no filme, mas Billy estava extrapolando. Todo o mundo se transformou em bebê, e a humanidade toda, sem exceção, conspirou biologicamente para produzir duas pessoas perfeitas, chamadas Adão e Eva. Foi o que Billy supôs.

Among the things Billy Pilgrim could not change were the past, the present and the future.

Billy and the rest wandered out onto the shady street. The trees were leafing out. There was nothing going on out there, no traffic of any kind. There was only one vehicle, an abandoned wagon drawn by two horses. The wagon was green and coffin-shaped. Birds were talking. One bird said to Billy Pilgrim, “Poo-tee-weet?

Today we do. On other days we have wars as horrible as any you've ever seen or read about. There isn't anything we can do about them, so we simply don't look at them. We ignore them. We spend eternity looking at pleasant moments-like today at the zoo. Isn't this a nice moment?" "Yes." "That's one thing Earthlings might learn to do, if they tried hard enough: Ignore the awful times, and concentrate on the good ones." "Um," said Billy Pilgrim.

Much of the world believes little or nothing. People are broad but shallow. Agnosticism, anxiety, emptiness, and meaninglessness have gripped much of the world—and even the church . . . By contrast, our Pilgrim forebears stand as shining examples of men who were narrow but deep, certain of what they believed, unswerving in their loyalty, and passionately dedicated to the God they trusted, and for whom they would willingly have died.

Among the things Billy Pilgrim could not change were the past, the present, and the future. ***

Billy Pilgrim tried hard to care. A

The Pilgrims . . . put their ideals ahead of all material considerations. It is not surprising that the Pilgrims had little and succeeded, while we have much and are in danger of failing. No civilization can make progress unless some great principle is generously mixed into the mortar of its foundations in life.

The Pilgrims had vision and hope because they lived in the dimension of eternity. Their strength of spirit was forged by a personal faith in God, by tough discipline, and by regular habits of devotion.

If we would take the traits that characterized the Pilgrims and make them our own, we could regain hope. We could recover the spiritual and moral strength that we have lost. We could offer a thrilling challenge to our young people.

Billy Pilgrim tried hard to care.

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.

Americans have finally heard about Dresden,’ said Rumfoord, twenty-three years after the raid. ‘A lot of them know now how much worse it was than Hiroshima. So I’ve got to put something about it in my book. From the official Air Force standpoint, it’ll all be new.’ ‘Why would they keep it a secret so long?’ said Lily. ‘For fear that a lot of bleeding hearts,’ said Rumfoord, ‘might not think it was such a wonderful thing to do.’ It was now that Billy Pilgrim spoke up intelligently. ‘I was there,’ he said.

Billy had a framed prayer on his office wall which expressed his method for keeping going, even though he was unenthusiastic about living. A lot of patients who saw the prayer on Billy’s wall told him that it helped them to keep going, too. It went like this: GOD GRANT ME THE SERENITY TO ACCEPT THE THINGS I CANNOT CHANGE, COURAGE TO CHANGE THE THINGS I CAN, AND WISDOM ALWAYS TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE. Among the things Billy Pilgrim could not change were the past, the present, and the future.

..."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 lady bugs embedded in it. "Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is now why.

Billy licked his lips, thought a while, inquired last: "Why me?" "That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why something? Because this moment simply is.

They went Indian file. First came the scouts, clever, graceful, quiet. They had rifles. Next came the antitank gunner, clumsy and dense, warning Germans away with a Colt .45 automatic in one hand and a trench knife in the other. Last came Billy Pilgrim, empty-handed, bleakly ready for death. Billy was preposterous - six feet and three inches tall, with a chest and shoulders like a box of kitchen matches. He had no helmet, no overcoat, no weapon, and no boots. On his feet were cheap, low-cut civilian shoes which he had bought for his father's funeral. Billy had lost a heel, which made him bob up-and-down, up-and-down. The involuntary dancing, up-and-down, up-and-down, made his hip joints sore.

Listen - on the tenth night the peg was pulled out of the hasp on Billy's boxcar door, and the door was opened. Billy Pilgrim was lying at an angle on the corner-brace, self-crucified, holding himself there with a blue and ivory claw hooked over the sill of the ventilator. Billy coughed when the door was opened, and when he coughed he shit think gruel. This was in accordance with the Third Law of Motion according to Sir Isaac Newton. This law tells us that for every action there is a reaction which is equal and opposite in direction. This can be useful in rocketry.

Billy Pilgrim susține că făpturile de pe Tralfamadore nu văd universul ca o puzderie de puncte mici, strălucitoare. Aceste făpturi percep simultan locul unde s-a aflat fiecare stea și direcția pe care o urmează fiecare, așa încât cerul le apare plin de spaghete luminoase. Și nici pe ființele umane tralfamadorienii nu le văd numai cu două picioare. Le văd ca niște uriașe miriapode - ”la un capăt cu piciorușe de bebeluș și la celălalt, cu picioare de om bătrân”, susține Billy Pilgrim.

The eight [Dresdeners] were grim as they approached the boxcars containing their wards. They knew what sick and foolish soldiers they themselves appeared to be. One of them actually had an artificial leg, and carried not only a loaded rifle but a cane. Still—they were expected to earn obedience and respect from tall, cocky, murderous American infantrymen who had just come from all the killing at the front. And then they saw bearded Billy Pilgrim in his blue toga and silver shoes, with his hands in a muff. He looked at least sixty years old. Next to Billy was little Paul Lazzaro with a broken arm. He was fizzing with rabies. Next to Lazzaro was the poor old high school teacher, Edgar Derby, mournfully pregnant with patriotism and middle age and imaginary wisdom. And so on. The eight ridiculous Dresdeners ascertained that these hundred ridiculous creatures really were American fighting men fresh from the front. They smiled, and then they laughed. Their terror evaporated. There was nothing to be afraid of. Here were more crippled human beings, more fools like themselves. Here was light opera.

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.

Like so many Americans, she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops. And the crucifix went up on the wall of Billy Pilgrim.

If what Billy Pilgrim learned from the Tralfamadorians is true, that we will all live forever, no matter how dead we sometimes seem to be, I am not overjoyed. Still, if I am going to spend eternity visiting this moment and that, I am grateful that so many of those moments are nice.

If what Billy Pilgrim learned from the Tralfamadorians is true, that we will all live forever, no matter how dead we sometimes seem to be, I am not overjoyed. Still, if I am going to spend eternity visiting this moment and that, I am grateful that so many of those moments are nice.

People aren’t supposed to look back. I’m certainly not going to do it anymore. I’ve finished my war book now. The next one I write is going to be fun. This one is a failure, and had to be, since it was written by a pillar of salt. It begins like this: Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time. It ends like this: Poo-tee-weet?

Welcome aboard, Mr. Pilgrim," said the loud-speaker. "Any questions?" Billy licked his lips, thought for 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 in it. "Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

If what Billy Pilgrim learned from the Tralfamadorians is true, that we will all live forever, no matter how dead we may sometimes seem to be, I am not overjoyed. Still - if I am to spend eternity visiting this moment and that, I'm grateful that so many of those moments are nice.

It would take another Earthling to explain it to you. Earthlings are the great explainers, explaining why this event is structured as it is, telling how other events may be achieved or avoided. I am a Tralfamadorian, seeing all time as you might see a stretch of the Rocky Mountains. All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I've said before, bugs in amber." "You sound to me as though you don't believe in free will," said Billy Pilgrim. "If I hadn't spent so much time studying Earthlings," said the Tralfamadorian, "I wouldn't have any idea what was meant by 'free will'. I've visited thirty-one inhabited planets in the universe, and I have studied reports on one hundred more. Only on Earth is there any talk of free will.

How much greater should be our longing for our eternal home! You and I aren’t meant to live for only a few decades on this earth; we are destined for eternity. The Bible says this world is not our final home; we are “strangers and pilgrims on the earth” (Hebrews 11:13 NKJV). Our true home is heaven—and that is where God’s path leads.

Last came Billy Pilgrim, empty-handed, bleakly ready for death.

People aren't supposed to look back. I'm certainly not going to do it anymore. I've finished my war book now. The next one I write is going to be fun. This one is a failure, and had to be, since it was written by a pillar of salt. It begins like this: Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time. It ends like this: Poo-tee-weet?

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.

Billy Pilgrim kiszámolta, hogy negyvennégy éves. Hová tűnhetett az a sok esztendő? – tépelődött.

The boots fit perfectly. Billy Pilgrim was Cinderella, and Cinderella was Billy Pilgrim.

The American fliers turned in their uniforms, became high school kids. And Hitler turned into a baby, Billy Pilgrim supposed. That wasn’t in the movie. Billy was extrapolating. Everybody turned into a baby, and all humanity, without exception, conspired biologically to produce two perfect people named Adam and Eve, he supposed. •

For twenty years, he had been strangely confounded about the book, and intellectualizing its problems hadn’t helped. At base, the antagonist was death, and life forces would have to sing a stronger, more convincing counterpoint in the novel. But now, because he was experiencing sex—the psyche’s match for death—in ways that inspired him, he saw how to give the novel balance. He would introduce a fantasy lover with the titillating name Montana Wildhack, Loree’s double, to rescue Slaughterhouse-Five’s protagonist, Billy Pilgrim, from the terror of existing in an empty, meaningless universe. * * * AS

Billy Pilgrim nie wyglądał na żołnierza. Przypominał raczej złachanego flaminga

It would take another Earthling to explain it to you. Earthlings are the great explainers, explaining why this event is structured as it is, telling how other events may be achieved or avoided. I am a Tralfamadorian, seeing all time as you might see a stretch of the Rocky Mountains. All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I’ve said before, bugs in amber.’ ‘You sound to me as though you don’t believe in free will,’ said Billy Pilgrim.

If what Billy Pilgrim learned from the Tralfamadorians is true, that we will all live forever, no matter how dead we may sometimes seem to be, I am not overjoyed. Still—if I am going to spend eternity visiting this moment and that, I’m grateful that so many of those moments are nice.

I used to have a cat, an old fighting tom, who sprang through the open window by my bed and pummeled my chest, barely sheathing his claws. I’ve been bloodied and mauled, wrung, dazzled, drawn. I taste salt on my lips in the early morning; I surprise my eyes in the mirror and they are ashes, or fiery sprouts, and I gape appalled or full of breath. The planet whirls along and dreaming. Power broods, spins, and lurches down. The planet and the power meet with a shock. They fuse and tumble, lightning, ground fire; they part, mute, submitting, and touch again with hiss and cry. The tree with the lights in it buzzes into flame and the cast-rock mountains ring. Emerson saw it. “I dreamed that I floated at will in the great Ether, and I saw this world floating also not far off, but diminished to the size of an apple. Then an angel took it in his hand and brought it to me and said, ‘This must thou eat.’ And I ate the world.” All of it. All of it intricate, speckled, gnawed, fringed, and free. Israel’s priests offered the wave breast and the heave shoulder together, freely, in full knowledge, for thanksgiving. They waved, they heaved, and neither gesture was whole without the other, and both meant a wide-eyed and keen-eyed thanks. Go your way, eat the fat, and drink the sweet, said the bell. A sixteenth-century alchemist wrote of the philosopher’s stone, “One finds it in the open country, in the village and in the town. It is in everything which God created. Maids throw it on the street. Children play with it.” The giant water bug ate the world. And like Billy Bray, I go my way, and my left foot says “Glory,” and my right foot says “Amen”: in and out of Shadow Creek, upstream and down, exultant, in a daze, dancing, to the twin silver trumpets of praise.

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.

The American fliers turned in their uniforms, became high school kids. And Hitler turned into a baby, Billy Pilgrim supposed. This wasn’t in the movie. Billy was extrapolating. Everybody turned into a baby, and all humanity, without exception, conspired biologically to produce two perfect people named Adam and Eve, he supposed.

Benvenuto a bordo, signor Pilgrim" disse l'altoparlante. "Domande?" Billy si passò la lingua sulle labbra, rifletté un momento e infine chiese: "Perché proprio io?". "Questa è una tipica domanda da terrestre, signor Pilgrim. Perché proprio lei? Perché proprio noi, allora? Perché qualsiasi cosa? Perché questo momento semplicemente è. Ha mai visto degli insetti sepolti nell'ambra?" "Sì." Effettivamente, Billy in ufficio aveva un fermacarte formato da un blocco di ambra levigata con tre coccinelle incastonate. "Be', eccoci qua, signor Pilgrim, incastonati nell'ambra di questo momento. Non c'è nessun perché.

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. - Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

And like Billy Bray, I go my way, and my left foot says “Glory,” and my right foot says “Amen”: in and out of Shadow Creek, upstream and down, exultant, in a daze, dancing, to the twin silver trumpets of praise