Under The Dome Book Quotes

The name Atlantis came from an old book Victoria had never read. A lifetime residency in the ASM paradise was rumored to cost anywhere from 15 to 20 million dollars. The rich and powerful lived under the dome because they considered themselves separate and superior. Few of them left the comfort and security of Atlantis. To them the outside world was weak. Second Sector citizens where miscreant dregs of a defunct society. In order to enter the Atlantian dome one first had to be cleared by a resident. Gate security personnel strictly enforced this rule, even when outsiders carried a badge and gun.

don’t know if we do or not, but when I was in Iraq, someone gave me a copy of Chairman Mao’s Little Red Book. I carried it around in my pocket, read it cover to cover. Most of it makes more sense than our politicians do on their sanest days. One thing that stuck with me was this: Wish for sunshine, but build dykes. I think that’s what we—you, I mean—

The air became very still, so still that you could almost hear the slow fall of dust. The Librarian swung on his knuckles between the endless bookshelves. The dome of the Library was still overhead but then, it always was. It seemed quite logical to the Librarian that, since there were aisles where the shelves were on the outside then there should be other aisles in the space between the books themselves, created out of quantum ripples by the sheer weight of words. There were certainly some odd sounds coming from the other side of some shelving, and the Librarian knew that if he gently pulled out a book or two he would be peeking into different libraries under different skies. Books bend space and time. One reason the owners of those aforesaid little rambling, poky second-hand bookshops always seem slightly unearthly is that many of them really are, having strayed into this world after taking a wrong turning in their own bookshops in worlds where it is considered commendable business practice to wear carpet slippers all the time and open your shop only when you feel like it. You stray into L-space at your peril. Very senior librarians, however, once they have proved themselves worthy by performing some valiant act of librarianship, are accepted into a secret order and are taught the raw arts of survival beyond the Shelves We Know. The Librarian was highly skilled in all of them, but what he was attempting now wouldn't just get him thrown out of the Order but probably out of life itself. All libraries everywhere are connected in L-space. All libraries. Everywhere. And the Librarian, navigating by booksign carved on shelves by past explorers, navigating by smell, navigating even by the siren whisperings of nostalgia, was heading purposely for one very special one. There was one consolation. If he got it wrong, he'd never know it.

blue sea that itself looked solid, so still and stable did it lie below my feet; even the track of light from the westering sun shone smoothly, without that animated glitter which tells of an imperceptible ripple. And when I turned my head to take a parting glance at the tug which had just left us anchored outside the bar, I saw the straight line of the flat shore joined to the stable sea, edge to edge, with a perfect and unmarked closeness, in one levelled floor half brown, half blue under the enormous dome of the sky.

We do not use writing exclusively to attain perspective upon our self-referential human existence. We dedicate our essayistic existence to witnessing the variegated acts of life. Our craniums serve as a personal planetarium, a full-dome personal theater where we can replay video and audio educational films documenting our scented and tactile observations. We feature recollections of evocative experiences, vivid daydreams, and frightful nightmares. A vast array of scientific visualizations and artistic depictions supplement our personal slideshow, knowledge we employ to frame our evolving self under the celestial sky and navigate our earthy existence.

I shut God Is Not Great halfway through and stared at the yellow cover, now garish and embarrassing in its boldness. I was - what was I? Disappointed. Bereft. Disgusted, even. I slid the book underneath my bed, where I wouldn't have to look at it and thus further consider my confusion. For perhaps the first time since I'd so confidently declared myself an atheist to my shocked parents, the hard dome of my determined irreligiosity suffered a fissure -- minute, barely perceptible, but relentlessly niggling, like the pea beneath a tottering stack of mattresses... I let Hitchens abide with the eddies of dog hair and dust under my bed, relegated to the dark margin where I never swept... (p.42,43)

reired but he still runs Selene, the power behind the throne. He ifts an eyebrow and everybody hops to do what he wants.” As they walked through the lush shrubbery and trees that filled he grotto, Verwoerd said, “I wonder what it is that he wants now?” Humphries threw a sour glance at her. “That’s what I pay you o find out.” The cocktail reception was out in the open, under the dome of he Grand Plaza next to the amphitheater that housed all of Scene’s theatrical productions. When Humphries and Verwoerd arived, Pancho Lane was standing near the bar deep in earnest conversation with Douglas Stavenger. Nearly twice Humphries’s age, Doug Stavenger still looked as young and vigorous as a thirty-year-old. His body teemed with naomachines that kept him healthy and youthful. Twice they had naved him from death, repairing damage to his body that ordinarily vould have been lethal.