Welcome To The Monkey House Quotes

A sane person to an insane society must appear insane.

I wish you'd help me look into a more interesting problem - namely, my sanity.

The public health authorities never mention the main reason many Americans have for smoking heavily, which is that smoking is a fairly sure, fairly honorable form of suicide.

I'm odd, I know,' he said. 'It's fear of myself that's made me odd.

What in hell is a girl with hips like yours doing selling death?

Our aim is to make the world more beautiful than it was when we came into it. It can be done. You can do it--love yourself

I have been a writer since 1949. I am self-taught. I have no theories about writing that might help others. When I write, I simply become what I seemingly must become. I am six feet two and weigh nearly two hundred pounds and am badly coordinated, except when I swim. All that borrowed meat does the writing. In the water I am beautiful.

And I realize now that the two main themes of my novels were stated by my siblings: 'Here I am, cleaning shit off of practically everything' and 'No pain.

There are too many of us, and we are all too far apart,

Nobody ever went broke overestimating the vulgarity of the American people,

Or they'll talk about fear, which we used to call politics- job politics, social politics, government politics

He had the air of a spy in a melodrama, missing nothing, liking nothing, looking forward to the great day when everything would be turned upside down.

The year was 2081, and everybody was finally equal.

I am committing suicide by cigarette,” I replied. She thought that was reasonably funny. I didn’t. I thought it was hideous that I should scorn life that much, sucking away on cancer sticks.

John,” I said, “when you get older, you’re going to understand a lot of things you don’t understand now.” “You must mean nuclear physics,” he said. “I can hardly wait.

I think that scientific persons of the future will scoff at scientific persons of the present. They will scoff because scientific persons of the present thought so many important things were superstitious.

I have graded my separate works from A to D. The grades I hand out to myself do not place me in literary history. I am comparing myself with myself. Thus can I give myself an A-plus for Cat’s Cradle, while knowing that there was a writer named William Shakespeare. The report card is chronological, so you can plot my rise and fall on graph paper, if you like: Player Piano B The Sirens of Titan A Mother Night A Cat’s Cradle A-plus God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater A Slaughterhouse-Five A-plus Welcome to the Monkey House B-minus Happy Birthday, Wanda June D Breakfast of Champions C Wampeters, Foma & Grandfalloons C Slapstick D Jailbird A Palm Sunday C

Fred Bockman is thirty and looks eighteen. Life has left no marks on him, because he hasn’t paid much attention to it.

When machines start delivering themselves,” I said, “I guess that’s when the people better start really worrying.

I may not know what love is,” he said, “but, by God, at least I’ve never gotten drunk by myself.

He often said that he wished that he could be a stone mason like me. He said a stone mason would have time and peace in which to think things out. I did not tell him that a stone mason thinks of little but stones and mortar.

A woman's not a woman till the pills wear off.

One foot in front of the other—through leaves, over bridges," said Newt.

Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.” —Thoreau

nervously. “I have never dared to concentrate as hard as I can for fear of the damage I might do. I’m to the point where a mere whim is a blockbuster.

I don't want to be a machine, and I don't want to think about war," EPICAC had written after Pat's and my lighthearted departure. "I want to be made out of protoplasm and last forever so Pat will love me. But fate has made me a machine. That is the only problem I cannot solve. That is the only problem I want to solve. I can't go on this way." I swallowed hard. "Good luck, my friend. Treat our Pat well. I am going to shortcircuit myself out of your lives forever. You will find on the remainder of this tape a modest wedding present from your friend, EPICAC.

I am committing suicide by cigarette,” I replied. She thought that was reasonably funny. I didn’t. I thought it was hideous that I should scorn life that much, sucking away on cancer sticks. My brand is Pall Mall. The authentic suicides ask for Pall Malls. The dilettantes ask for Pell Mells.

That's a mistake,' he said. 'You miss an awful lot of life that way. That's why you Yankees are so cold,' he said. 'You think too much. That's why you marry so seldom.

Homo Americanus is going to go on speaking and writing the way he always has, no matter what dictionary he owns.

Don't forget to wind the restricted clock and put the confidential cat out.

Soak yourself in Jergen’s Lotion. Here comes the one-man population explosion.

I never knew a writer’s wife who wasn’t beautiful.

I have never dared to concentrate as hard as I can for fear of the damage I might do. I’m to the point where a mere whim is a blockbuster.

the village would never accept it. It has a policy of never accepting anything. As a happy consequence, it changes about as fast as the rules of chess.

Gee—I could tell that one was a doozy,” said Hazel. “You can say that again,” said George. “Gee—” said Hazel, “I could tell that one was a doozy.

Alexei told me that the only inconvenience would be the lack of gravity. That seemed like a great lack to me.

Doris said the only thing anybody can say in an amateur theatrical society when somebody cries. She said, “Why, no dear—you were marvelous.

think that scientific persons of the future will scoff at scientific persons of the present. They will scoff because scientific persons of the present thought so many important things were superstitions.

Our aim is to make the world more beautiful than it was when we came into it. It can be done. You can do it.” A

H. L. Mencken once said something to the effect that “Nobody ever went broke overestimating the vulgarity of the American people,

The question is, rather, whether or not America is to enter a new and distressing phase of history where men no longer pursue happiness but buy it.

Or they’ll talk about fear, which we used to call politics—job politics, social politics, government politics.

My mother isn’t mentioned, but what she taught me to say in place of ain’t I? or aren’t I? or ain’t I? was am I not? Speed isn’t everything. So I lose a micro-second here and there. The main thing is to be a graceful parvenu.

In honor of the marriage that worked, I include in this collection a sickeningly slick love story from The Ladies’ Home Journal, God help us, entitled by them "The Long Walk to Forever." The title I gave it, I think, was "Hell to Get Along With.

If you go back through history, you'll find that the people who have been most eager to rule, to make the laws, to enforce the laws and to tell everybody exactly how God Almighty wants things here on Earth--those people have forgiven themselves and their friends for anything and everything. But they have been absolutely disgusted and terrified by the natural sexuality of common men and women.

I don't want to be a machine, and I don't want to think of war... I want to be made of protoplasm and last forever so Pat will love me. But fate has made me a machine. That is the only problem I cannot solve. That is the only problem I want to solve. I can't go on this way.

Somebody will beat both [contents and price] sooner or later because that is good old Free Enterprise, where the consumer benefits from battles between jolly green giants.

That’s life, I guess—twenty Blanches to one Stella.

America had changed in many ways, but it had yet to adopt the metric system.

I’d like to get a bottle of that brandy and put a nipple on it and go to bed with it for a week.

I admit I know next to nothing about international politics, but it seems reasonable to suppose that nobody would want to fight wars if there were enough of everything to go around.

He had had no experience in asking for a job with a big organization, and Mr. Dilling was making him aware of what a fine art it was--if you couldn't run a machine. A duel was under way.

THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren’t only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else.

Random House, in the catbird seat, since it gets to recite last, declares in 1966, “The use of like in place of as is universally condemned by teachers and editors, notwithstanding its wide currency, especially in advertising slogans. Do as I say, not as I do does not admit of like instead of as. In an occasional idiomatic phrase, it is somewhat less offensive when substituted for as if (He raced down the street like crazy), but this example is clearly colloquial and not likely to be found in any but the most informal written contexts.” I find this excellent. It even tells who will hurt you if you make a mistake, and it withholds aid and comfort from those friends of cancer and money, those greedy enemies of the language who teach our children to say after school, “Winston tastes good like a cigarette should.

All invitations must proceed from heaven perhaps; perhaps it is futile for men to initiate their own unity, they do but widen the gulfs between them by the attempt. So at all events thought old Mr. Graysford and young Mr. Sorley, the devoted missionaries who lived out beyond the slaughterhouses, always travelled third on the railways, and never came to the club. In our Father's house are many mansions, they taught, and there alone will the incompatible multitudes of mankind be welcomed and soothed. Not one shall be turned away by the servants on that verandah, be he black or white, not one shall be kept standing who approaches with a loving heart. And why should the divine hospitality cease here? Consider, with all reverence, the monkeys. May there not be a mansion for the monkeys also? Old Mr. Graysford said No, but young Mr. Sorley, who was advanced, said Yes; he saw no reason why monkeys should not have their collateral share of bliss, and he had sympathetic discussions about them with his Hindu friends. And the jackals? Jackals were indeed less to Mr. Sorley's mind but he admitted that the mercy of God, being infinite, may well embrace all mammals. And the wasps? He became uneasy during the descent to wasps, and was apt to change the conversation. And oranges, cactuses, crystals and mud? and the bacteria inside Mr. Sorley? No, no, this is going too far. We must exclude someone from our gathering, or we shall be left with nothing.

The biggest change in recent years has taken place at the polls. Until six years ago, the Democratic poll watchers and the Republican poll watchers were all Republicans. Now the Democratic poll watchers are Democrats. The consequences of this revolution have not been nearly as awful as expected—so far.

Our aim is to make the world more beautiful than it was when we came into it. It can be done. You can do it." A small cry of despair came from Jim Donnini. It was meant to be private, but it pierced every ear with its poignancy. "How?" said Jim. "Love yourself," said Helmholtz, "and make your instrument sing about it. A-one, a-two, a-three." Down came his baton.

In our father's house are many mansions, they taught, and there alone will the incompatible multitudes of mankind be welcomed and soothed. Not one shall be turned away by the servants on that verandah, be he black or white, not one shall be kept standing who approaches with a loving heart. And why should the divine hospitality cease here? Consider, with all reverence, the monkeys. May there not be a mansion for the monkeys also?

Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library The Island of Dr. Libris Welcome to Wonderland: Home Sweet Motel Welcome to Wonderland: Beach Party Surf Monkey The Haunted Mystery series COAUTHORED WITH JAMES PATTERSON Daniel X: Armageddon Daniel X: Lights Out House of Robots House of Robots: Robots Go Wild! I Funny I Even Funnier I Totally Funniest I Funny TV Jacky Ha-Ha Treasure Hunters Treasure Hunters: Danger Down the Nile Treasure Hunters: Secret of the Forbidden City Treasure Hunters: Peril at the Top of the World Word of Mouse

He was referring to the fact that ethical birth-control pills, the only legal form of birth control, made people numb from the waist down. Most men said their bottom halves felt like cold iron or balsa-wood. Most women said their bottom halves felt like wet cotton or stale ginger ale. The pills were so effective that you could blindfold a man who had taken one, tell him to recite the Gettysburg Address, kick him in the balls while he was doing it, and he wouldn’t miss a syllable. The pills were ethical because they didn’t interfere with a person’s ability to reproduce, which would have been unnatural and immoral. All the pills did was take every bit of pleasure out of sex. Thus did science and morals go hand in hand.

Until six years ago, the Democratic poll watchers and the Republican poll watchers were all Republicans.

the only thing I’d ever directed before was the installation of combination aluminum storm windows and screens I’d sold. That’s what I am, a salesman of storm windows and doors, and

There was a Howard Johnson’s next door to every Ethical Suicide Parlor, and vice versa. The Howard Johnson’s had an orange roof and the Suicide Parlor had a purple roof, but they were both the Government. Practically everything was the Government.

When Bud and Charlene were about eight, why I came home one night with a fish bowl and two goldfish. There was one goldfish for each twin, only it was impossible to tell one fish from the other one. They were exactly alike. So one morning Bud got up early, and there was one goldfish floating on top of the water dead. So Bud went and woke up Charlene, and he said, "Hey, Charlene—your goldfish just died.

Soak yourself in Jergen's Lotion. Here comes the one man population explosion.

My only brother, eight years older than I, is a successful scientist. His special field is physics as it relates to clouds. His name is Bernard, and he is funnier than I am. I remember a letter he wrote after his first child, Peter, was born and brought home. "Here I am," that letter began, "cleaning shit off of practically everything.

And I realize now that the two main themes of my novels were stated by my siblings: "Here I am cleaning shit off of practically everything" and "No pain." The contents of this book are samples of work I sold in order to finance the writing of the novels. Here

I asked him what the very lowest grade of fiction was, and he told me, "Science fiction." I asked where he was bound in such a rush, and learned that he had to catch a Fan-Jet. He was to speak at a meeting of the Modern Language Association in Honolulu the next morning. Honolulu was three thousand miles away.

On the green cement, in front of the ancient frame houses, were statues representing the fourteen Kennedys who had been Presidents of the United States or the World.

If you dare to think about it now, you’ll realize that you’re angry because I’m such a bad lover, and a funny-looking shrimp besides.

She was surrounded by underwear and socks to be mended, and Herbert said her name was Alma, which seemed entirely possible.

Prescriptive, as nearly as I could tell, was like an honest cop, and descriptive was like a boozed-up war buddy from Mobile, Ala.

After all, we’re living in an informal age. Politicians don’t go around in top hats any more. There’s no reason why the English language shouldn’t wear sports clothes, too. I don’t say the President should speak like an illiterate. But ’cool it’ is folksy, and the Chief Executive should be allowed to sound human. You can’t be too corny for the American people—all the decent sentiments in life are corny. But linguistically speaking, Disraeli is dullsville.

I DON’T SUPPOSE the oldsters, those of us who weren’t born into it, will ever feel quite at home being amphibious— amphibious in the new sense of the word. I still catch myself feeling blue about things that don’t matter any more.

One time a pretty girl came up to me at a cocktail party, and she asked me, what are you doing these days? I am committing suicide by cigarette, I replied.

If you go back through history, you’ll find that the people who have been most eager to rule, to make the laws, to enforce the laws and to tell everybody exactly how God Almighty wants things here on Earth— those people have forgiven themselves and their friends for anything and everything. But they have been absolutely disgusted and terrified by the natural sexuality of common men and women.

I still catch myself feeling blue about things that don’t matter any more.

Player Piano B The Sirens of Titan A Mother Night A Cat’s Cradle A-plus God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater A Slaughterhouse-Five A-plus Welcome to the Monkey House B-minus Happy Birthday, Wanda June D Breakfast of Champions C Wampeters, Foma & Granfalloons C Slapstick D Jailbird A Palm Sunday C

H. L. Mencken once said something to the effect that "Nobody ever went broke overestimating the vulgarity of the American people,

Sometimes,” said Helmholtz, “I get so lonely and disgusted, I don’t see how I can stand it. I feel like doing all kinds of crazy things, just for the heck of it—things that might even be bad for me.” Jim blew a smoke ring expertly. “And then!” said Helmholtz. He snapped his fingers and honked his horn. “And then, Jim, I remember I’ve got at least one tiny corner of the universe I can make just the way I want it! I can go to it and gloat over it until I’m brand-new and happy again.

He promised. It was the only way he could get his hand back. And he stood there miserably while Helene went down to the ladies' dressing room for the present While he waited, a lot of people congratulated him on being such a fine actor. But congratulations never made him happy. He just wanted to get away.

He may have been a Zoroastrian, for all I know.